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?
Showing posts with label Egypt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Egypt. Show all posts
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Thursday, January 3, 2008
I Really Really Hate the Fucking Ferry
This having been my fourth time on the Arab Bridge ferry between Egypt and Jordan, I feel I am somewhat qualified to comment on it. It is a living hell.
The trip between Damascus and Cairo need not be the ordeal it is, rendered thusly only because of the ferry. I personally love buses. Bus across the Sinai, followed by bus to Amman, bus to Damascus? Sign me up! But that little stretch between Egypt and Jordan, that little sliver of water the Gulf of Aqaba, usually takes close to a day to cross.
Why the ferry? Oh, Israel, you hateful little slice of a country. Seriously, do you need Eilat? You have another ocean for ports and beaches. But no, Israel decides that they need Eilat, necessitating the Arab Bridge.
Eilat is sandwiched between Taba in Egypt and Aqaba in Jordan. But does the ferry make this short route? No! It goes all the way down to Nuweiba on the Egyptian side. This itself is hardly the source of all the misery, as the actual trip takes an hour (by ferry - three and a half by barge).
There is one ferry and one barge a day. Only. Arrive at the Aqaba port at say, 2am, and you have yourself a good 12-hour wait until you kiss the sweet Egyptian soil. Arrive in Nuweiba at 6am, because it is the only real option from Cairo is the 10pm bus, and you have a good 14-hour wait to greet Jordan's dirt.
This is with the ferry. The barge, only 10 dollars cheaper (out of freaking $50 from Jordan to Egypt, and $70 from Egypt to Jordan) seems to be a lower layer of hell that even my cheap ass refuses to descend into. Arriving at Nuweiba at 5am (our driver was crazy fast) there was a line of men boarding the ferry. At 5pm when we started boarding our ferry, the barge was still in Egypt. I think they were going to leave soon. So those poor bastards were on that damn barge all day before it even took off.
Our ferry was supposed to leave at "oh, about 3 maybe, God willing". So we sat down in a little run-down ahwa after waiting around 2, maybe 3 hours to buy tickets, ordered coffee, tea, ate La Vache Qui Rit cheese and bread, and smoked shisha. Met a kid from freaking Mason, Michigan (right next to the old hometown - I believe we are rivals) who lives in Amman. Hung out with a nice Palestinian boy, and met some British dude who I let remain in his delusion that his Egyptian shisha for 200 guinee was "a steal" (the most expensive of my three had cost 60).
Ladies first: I know I have griped about this in the past, but it is nice getting to cut a whole bunch of men for being a lady. However, I really, really hate the foreigners first rule. We're in Egypt, and all the Egyptians are told to stay back while the foreigners buy their tickets, board the ferry, etc. Even worse, it seems as if the western foreigners are pushed ahead of the Arab foreigners. This trip was the worst I have seen this phenomenon, as literally the first bus (buses take you from the terminal to the boat - no just walking the 200 meters allowed) was all westerners. We had stayed back, cause there's no reason to get flustered - boat's gonna leave when it's gonna leave.
Previous times, there has just been a hustling of ladies to the front: Arab ladies, Egyptian ladies, American ladies. I prefer this as it means I don't have to wait long AND I don't have to feel like a giant shit for getting special "Western treatment". I'm getting regular ol' lady treatment.
We finally got into Aqaba at about 8pm or so, and were saved waiting by Rachel. On the boat they take our passports, and then in the arrivals hall we wait. After 20 minutes, Rachel says fuck this and walks into the office, 5 minutes later walks out with our passports and we get out before the rest of the foreigners. "What did you say?" I ask.
"Marhaba," She says. (Hi).
I hate the boat, especially since there's no alternative. How to get from Egypt to the rest of the Arab world? Israel ain't exactly an option for most people. So the shitty service and exorbidant price of the Arab Bridge continues.
There's more to hate, but I have only so much time to dwell on such unpleasantries. I am at Dera'a, on the Syrian - Jordanian border. Somebody's visa expired and we have to wait while a new one is issued. In Sha Allah.
The trip between Damascus and Cairo need not be the ordeal it is, rendered thusly only because of the ferry. I personally love buses. Bus across the Sinai, followed by bus to Amman, bus to Damascus? Sign me up! But that little stretch between Egypt and Jordan, that little sliver of water the Gulf of Aqaba, usually takes close to a day to cross.
Why the ferry? Oh, Israel, you hateful little slice of a country. Seriously, do you need Eilat? You have another ocean for ports and beaches. But no, Israel decides that they need Eilat, necessitating the Arab Bridge.
Eilat is sandwiched between Taba in Egypt and Aqaba in Jordan. But does the ferry make this short route? No! It goes all the way down to Nuweiba on the Egyptian side. This itself is hardly the source of all the misery, as the actual trip takes an hour (by ferry - three and a half by barge).
There is one ferry and one barge a day. Only. Arrive at the Aqaba port at say, 2am, and you have yourself a good 12-hour wait until you kiss the sweet Egyptian soil. Arrive in Nuweiba at 6am, because it is the only real option from Cairo is the 10pm bus, and you have a good 14-hour wait to greet Jordan's dirt.
This is with the ferry. The barge, only 10 dollars cheaper (out of freaking $50 from Jordan to Egypt, and $70 from Egypt to Jordan) seems to be a lower layer of hell that even my cheap ass refuses to descend into. Arriving at Nuweiba at 5am (our driver was crazy fast) there was a line of men boarding the ferry. At 5pm when we started boarding our ferry, the barge was still in Egypt. I think they were going to leave soon. So those poor bastards were on that damn barge all day before it even took off.
Our ferry was supposed to leave at "oh, about 3 maybe, God willing". So we sat down in a little run-down ahwa after waiting around 2, maybe 3 hours to buy tickets, ordered coffee, tea, ate La Vache Qui Rit cheese and bread, and smoked shisha. Met a kid from freaking Mason, Michigan (right next to the old hometown - I believe we are rivals) who lives in Amman. Hung out with a nice Palestinian boy, and met some British dude who I let remain in his delusion that his Egyptian shisha for 200 guinee was "a steal" (the most expensive of my three had cost 60).
Ladies first: I know I have griped about this in the past, but it is nice getting to cut a whole bunch of men for being a lady. However, I really, really hate the foreigners first rule. We're in Egypt, and all the Egyptians are told to stay back while the foreigners buy their tickets, board the ferry, etc. Even worse, it seems as if the western foreigners are pushed ahead of the Arab foreigners. This trip was the worst I have seen this phenomenon, as literally the first bus (buses take you from the terminal to the boat - no just walking the 200 meters allowed) was all westerners. We had stayed back, cause there's no reason to get flustered - boat's gonna leave when it's gonna leave.
Previous times, there has just been a hustling of ladies to the front: Arab ladies, Egyptian ladies, American ladies. I prefer this as it means I don't have to wait long AND I don't have to feel like a giant shit for getting special "Western treatment". I'm getting regular ol' lady treatment.
We finally got into Aqaba at about 8pm or so, and were saved waiting by Rachel. On the boat they take our passports, and then in the arrivals hall we wait. After 20 minutes, Rachel says fuck this and walks into the office, 5 minutes later walks out with our passports and we get out before the rest of the foreigners. "What did you say?" I ask.
"Marhaba," She says. (Hi).
I hate the boat, especially since there's no alternative. How to get from Egypt to the rest of the Arab world? Israel ain't exactly an option for most people. So the shitty service and exorbidant price of the Arab Bridge continues.
There's more to hate, but I have only so much time to dwell on such unpleasantries. I am at Dera'a, on the Syrian - Jordanian border. Somebody's visa expired and we have to wait while a new one is issued. In Sha Allah.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
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!
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!
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, December 24, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
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!
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!
Thursday, August 9, 2007
2006: Cairo to Damascus by Bus Part I
Near the end of my semester at AUC in May 2006, I knew I still wanted to go to Syria, despite failing horribly on the first attempt. Nothing would keep me out. I decided to play it safe and get a visa beforehand the only way possible: mailing my visa to the Syrian embassy in Washington DC. For three anxious weeks I waited for my passport, which finally came back on the last Monday of classes. I moved my ticket home back two weeks. I spent Tuesday packing up all my shit (a suitcase, three shishas, a duffle bag, and various other shit stuffed into plastic bags and boxes that wouldn't fit) leaving myself only the essentials what would fit in a backpack. All my other shit was supposed to go in my friend Alex's apartment until I got back two weeks later.
Wednesday I bought my bus ticket to Nuweiba in the morning. In the afternoon I found out that Alex would still be in Sharm al-Shaykh with his girlfriend Joanna when I got back, thus I wouldn't be able to retrieve my shit before going to America. I called everyone I knew with an apartment in Cairo, but everyone was giving up their places to go home or travel. Shit. With darkness and the time of bus departure approaching, I ran down to the bowab (doorman). He didn't speak any English, so I had to make use of the Arabic I was supposed to be learning for 5 months. "I have a big problem. I need to put my stuff somewhere while I'm in Syria," I explained. He took me to an abandoned apartment in complete disrepair on the 8th floor (I lived on the 10th). We moved all my shit into a corner of the room and put a tarp over it. "Is that really going to be safe? For two weeks?" He assured me it was. Everything I had was there: my clothes, my souvenirs, my laptop and associated electronics. I offered to pay him to watch it. "No no no no" he told me. He'd watch it for me. So jumped in a taxi with my backpack, with only a few copied pages from Shadee's Lonely Planet: Middle East to guide me.
First Leg: Cairo to Nuweiba - Across the Sinai
At the bus station I struck up a conversation with a young muhagaba, complete with face niqab and gloves on her hands. She wondered how I could travel so far by myself, wished me luck and good health.
An hour outside of Cairo the bus broke down. We all piled outside, waiting in the sand by the side of the road. An hour later a new bus pulled up and we were off once again! During the wait I struck up conversation with an Iraqi man who was studying in Cairo, family in Amman. They had fled Falluja. We quickly got over that awkward "yeah, sorry about that war that forced you from your home and all." On the new bus he sat next to me and kept me entertained with video clips on his phone and we talked about various stuff. At some point I fell asleep. Thursday morning we rolled into Taba, my next destination point of Aqaba clearly visible past the sliver of Israel (Eilat) in between the two Arab nations. But I wanted to get into Syria, which meant as little Israel as possible - none. So the bus swung south to Nuweiba where there's a ferry to Aqaba. It was early, about 8am.
Second Leg: Nuweiba to Aqaba - Across the Gulf of Aqaba
The ferry leaves once a day to Aqaba. I wanted to buy a ticket but found out that I didn't have enough money. With buses, my residence visa got me the Egyptian rate, but it didn't work on the ferry. I wandered off to find a bank, waiting quite a bit for them to open. While waiting, I saw a lone camel walking down the road, no sign of an owner in sight.
After changing some money I had enough for the ferry. I fought the line and went into the large shaded waiting area, where I soon attracted the attention of a group of about 14 Palestinian guys and one half-Jordanian, half-Indonesian who went to school in Cairo. We started talked in half Arabic and half English. Bilal, tall and muscular, enjoyed talking to me, shutting out Ahmad, the half-Jordanian, half-Indonesian who had approached me originally. We waited for hours so we all had a lot of time to talk. We talked about the occupation, about Bilal's older brother shot dead by IDF during the intifada, about Cairo, about religion, about relations between men and women.
"You see," said Bilal, "if you were my wife, I wouldn't want you to go outside wearting that." That was big tied pants that reached mid-calf showing off my lower unshaved leg, a big t-shirt, and my short hair tucked under a baseball cap. Sexy. "Other men would look at you."
I replied, "If you were my husband, I wouldn't want you to wear that." I said about the tight t-shirt he wore, which showed off his well-defined upper body. It was, um, not bad looking. "Other women would look at you."
"It's different!" he replied. "No it isn't." I said.
Finally we could board the ferry. It was massive, but the crush of people rushing toward the small door out onto the dock was more massive. The Palestinian boys took it upon themselve to protect me, which was mutually beneficial. The boys protected me from the mass of men trying to board (I found out later there was a seperate entrance for women and families), and my presence in the group moved us all up quicker, as the ferry employees noticed the white, foreign woman and let her and her friends through.
We sat for forever and waiting for the ferry to fill. It took hours. We waited for the ferry to leave the dock. It took hours. It was a horrible purgatory, alleviated little by the conversation. Ahmad told me about his sister's wedding tomorrow in Amman and invited me along. Sorry, nothing was going to sway me from my mission: Syria. Besides, I imagined an awkward scene if Ahmad rolled into his sister's wedding with a random American whore (and we all are whores). Plus I had nothing nice to wear. Despite Bilal's insistance that my outfit made me quite the temptress, in truth I looked like just a grungy backpacker. At some point I dropped off. Ahmad woke me up once we docked in Aqaba, with the long shadows of afternoon. We waited to get off the ferry. We waited to get our visas. There was no ATM, and I had little money after the unfavorable exchange rate from Egyptian guinee to Jordanian dinars. It was sunset by the time I got off the dock to ground transportation.
"Ya Aneet! Habibi! Come with us!" yelled the Palestinian men by a 15-passenger van. "I was going to get on a bus..." I said. "Don't you guys have to go Palestine?" "The border's closed until tomorrow. Ahmad's going to Amman and then we'll take you all the way to the Syrian border." Well, fine then. So onto a van in Jordan with 15 young men at night...
Wednesday I bought my bus ticket to Nuweiba in the morning. In the afternoon I found out that Alex would still be in Sharm al-Shaykh with his girlfriend Joanna when I got back, thus I wouldn't be able to retrieve my shit before going to America. I called everyone I knew with an apartment in Cairo, but everyone was giving up their places to go home or travel. Shit. With darkness and the time of bus departure approaching, I ran down to the bowab (doorman). He didn't speak any English, so I had to make use of the Arabic I was supposed to be learning for 5 months. "I have a big problem. I need to put my stuff somewhere while I'm in Syria," I explained. He took me to an abandoned apartment in complete disrepair on the 8th floor (I lived on the 10th). We moved all my shit into a corner of the room and put a tarp over it. "Is that really going to be safe? For two weeks?" He assured me it was. Everything I had was there: my clothes, my souvenirs, my laptop and associated electronics. I offered to pay him to watch it. "No no no no" he told me. He'd watch it for me. So jumped in a taxi with my backpack, with only a few copied pages from Shadee's Lonely Planet: Middle East to guide me.
First Leg: Cairo to Nuweiba - Across the Sinai
At the bus station I struck up a conversation with a young muhagaba, complete with face niqab and gloves on her hands. She wondered how I could travel so far by myself, wished me luck and good health.
An hour outside of Cairo the bus broke down. We all piled outside, waiting in the sand by the side of the road. An hour later a new bus pulled up and we were off once again! During the wait I struck up conversation with an Iraqi man who was studying in Cairo, family in Amman. They had fled Falluja. We quickly got over that awkward "yeah, sorry about that war that forced you from your home and all." On the new bus he sat next to me and kept me entertained with video clips on his phone and we talked about various stuff. At some point I fell asleep. Thursday morning we rolled into Taba, my next destination point of Aqaba clearly visible past the sliver of Israel (Eilat) in between the two Arab nations. But I wanted to get into Syria, which meant as little Israel as possible - none. So the bus swung south to Nuweiba where there's a ferry to Aqaba. It was early, about 8am.
Second Leg: Nuweiba to Aqaba - Across the Gulf of Aqaba
The ferry leaves once a day to Aqaba. I wanted to buy a ticket but found out that I didn't have enough money. With buses, my residence visa got me the Egyptian rate, but it didn't work on the ferry. I wandered off to find a bank, waiting quite a bit for them to open. While waiting, I saw a lone camel walking down the road, no sign of an owner in sight.After changing some money I had enough for the ferry. I fought the line and went into the large shaded waiting area, where I soon attracted the attention of a group of about 14 Palestinian guys and one half-Jordanian, half-Indonesian who went to school in Cairo. We started talked in half Arabic and half English. Bilal, tall and muscular, enjoyed talking to me, shutting out Ahmad, the half-Jordanian, half-Indonesian who had approached me originally. We waited for hours so we all had a lot of time to talk. We talked about the occupation, about Bilal's older brother shot dead by IDF during the intifada, about Cairo, about religion, about relations between men and women.
"You see," said Bilal, "if you were my wife, I wouldn't want you to go outside wearting that." That was big tied pants that reached mid-calf showing off my lower unshaved leg, a big t-shirt, and my short hair tucked under a baseball cap. Sexy. "Other men would look at you."
I replied, "If you were my husband, I wouldn't want you to wear that." I said about the tight t-shirt he wore, which showed off his well-defined upper body. It was, um, not bad looking. "Other women would look at you."
"It's different!" he replied. "No it isn't." I said.
Finally we could board the ferry. It was massive, but the crush of people rushing toward the small door out onto the dock was more massive. The Palestinian boys took it upon themselve to protect me, which was mutually beneficial. The boys protected me from the mass of men trying to board (I found out later there was a seperate entrance for women and families), and my presence in the group moved us all up quicker, as the ferry employees noticed the white, foreign woman and let her and her friends through.
We sat for forever and waiting for the ferry to fill. It took hours. We waited for the ferry to leave the dock. It took hours. It was a horrible purgatory, alleviated little by the conversation. Ahmad told me about his sister's wedding tomorrow in Amman and invited me along. Sorry, nothing was going to sway me from my mission: Syria. Besides, I imagined an awkward scene if Ahmad rolled into his sister's wedding with a random American whore (and we all are whores). Plus I had nothing nice to wear. Despite Bilal's insistance that my outfit made me quite the temptress, in truth I looked like just a grungy backpacker. At some point I dropped off. Ahmad woke me up once we docked in Aqaba, with the long shadows of afternoon. We waited to get off the ferry. We waited to get our visas. There was no ATM, and I had little money after the unfavorable exchange rate from Egyptian guinee to Jordanian dinars. It was sunset by the time I got off the dock to ground transportation.
"Ya Aneet! Habibi! Come with us!" yelled the Palestinian men by a 15-passenger van. "I was going to get on a bus..." I said. "Don't you guys have to go Palestine?" "The border's closed until tomorrow. Ahmad's going to Amman and then we'll take you all the way to the Syrian border." Well, fine then. So onto a van in Jordan with 15 young men at night...
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Ruby's all Classy and Shit
روبي - مشيت ورا إحساسي
Look at her - no belly showing, no shameless gyrations. Ruby - what happened? This is the latest single off her new album, and shares the same name, Misheet Wara Ihsasi (I Followed My Feelings). Ruby is reportedly trying to project a classier, covered up image. In the past, her racy videos have caused the Muslim Brotherhood to call for their ban in the Egyptian Parliament and been the subject of NPR reports and New York Times articles. The song is eh, not her best.
I actually really like the first single, Mosh Hate'dar (You Won't Be Able to). This one really emphasizes the classy: She's sitting! Not dancing! Covered up! Stringed instruments! Um... sitar!
But the song itself is great, very classic vibe like Fairouz or even (though naturally it does not approach) Um Kulsoum. Nice going Ruby!
But, for a minute, can we remember the glorious sexiness that was a Ruby video? Whether pantomining sex acts with a stationary bike, walking around Prague in a pink belly dancing ensemble, or, as here, invoking Ancient Egypt to display the sexy, she was truly fucking awesome:
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