A Day in the Life...

Wake up. The windows are closed, but the sounds of the street are easy to hear. Car horns. It’s only 730, but they’re going already. Turn on electric kettle to make tea, traipse to the bathroom. Make tea; check BBC and Facebook for news of civilization. Get dressed, put in contacts without using the mirror, return to bathroom to brush teeth and wash face. Try and be quiet because both roommates are still sleeping. Chat with a few stray Georgetown friends online and tell them to go to bed. It’s 200, you know.

Accidentally kick Sara’s turtle while crossing to the closet (it moved!). Sara’s alarms start going off at 800. And keep going indefinitely. Her phone alarm goes off (unheeded), clock alarm that beeps and plays the call to prayer at five daily intervals goes off (unheeded), phone rings (it’s her mother calling to wake her up, unheeded). Usually by 830 she’s answered the phone. Usually. The other roommate says Sara generally makes it out of bed by noon.

At 815, the children at the elementary school across the street start chanting as they do their calisthenics. You don’t think it sounds like “Death to America,” but it may well. They don’t enunciate terribly well. At 820, what sounds like a toy piano breaks into the chords of the Egyptian National Anthem. The entire student body begins to screech...Bilaady, bilaady, bilaaaaaadyyyyy… Next seems to be “Frere Jacques,” but you can never be sure.

Descend from the girl’s side of the dorms, exit dorms and board shuttle. It’s two seats on one side, one seat on the other, and a fold-down seat for each row across the aisle. If this bus needs to be evacuated, you should probably just curl up and pray because you won’t get out. Drive across the bridge from Zamalek to mainland Egypt. Join the collective wince upon seeing just how thick the smog is today. Try not to think that you’re breathing it.

Alight from the shuttle and accompany classmate to the feteer shop one block down. Stand while the feteer guys ogle you and necessary breakfast business is transacted. (Feteer is a tasty, flaky, well-oiled pancake rolled up with jam, sugar, or honey in the mornings and other things later. One costs 50 piasters, a whopping $0.09.) Return, and pass through “Security.” Walk through a metal detector that isn’t plugged in and open the main compartment of your bag (never mind it has at least 4 other compartments) for a cursory glance. Walk across Greek Campus (one of three campuses: Main Campus, Greek Campus, Falaki Campus) to the Social Sciences building for class.

Depart Social Sciences and Greek Campus for Main Campus. Avoid Gucci Corner, where the moneyed of the moneyed at AUC hang out. By this time rush-hours have ebbed somewhat. Cross the street with ease. Wait for two friends who aren’t quite as gutsy and haven’t quite mastered suppressing one’s urge for self-preservation. (It must be completely squashed before walking out in front of a bus five times a day.) Recall that this tactic will have you dead in Washington, DC within three days.

Head to the gym. Change in the bathroom stall because nobody changes by the lockers. Of the two spinning bikes, neither has the straps in the toe cages, and one has the cages completely busted off. Feel a little awkward since only American girls wear shorts and short sleeves, but there’s usually only one other Egyptian girl. Finish workout and head back to locker room. Grab clothing and jump into shower stall. Try to control that post-workout glow (and scent) with the hand-held shower that doesn’t actually have a working drain. Get your clothes a little wet. Oops. Change in the shower stall.

Exit shower stall and return to locker. Remember that you got the lucky locker: it faces Mecca. Everyone on campus uses the locker rooms to pray, so now there are five girls lined up praying right in front of your locker. You can’t exactly walk in front of them to put your stuff in. Wait fifteen minutes until you can dodge in and trade gym bag for textbooks.

Walk two blocks down to the ful and ta’amiyya place. Run the gauntlet of male stares from the hookah place attached. “The ful and ta’amiyya place” is a hole in the wall that serves pita halves filled with ful, ta’amiyya, baba ghanoush, potato chips, etc. Stand among hulking Egyptian men as the sole female or Caucasian and look so out of place that the guy inside the shop can’t help but grin. (An actual friendly grin, not a leer!) Usually be waited on before the men, and occasionally be permitted to step in front of men to place your order. Depart LE 1 poorer, with two pita halves filled with ful—mashed fava beans that taste mostly like refried beans. Rerun gauntlet. Remain thankful that nobody’s grabbed you yet today. Pass ambiguous picture of Sadat or MLK and return to cafeteria to consume ful and a cup of quasi-American coffee.

Run over to the copy shop to pick up reading for next week and order the following week’s. Laugh at how absolutely and unabashedly it violates any copyright laws. Cringe slightly since double-sided copying is unheard of, you’ve got 500 sheets of paper bound together for the next class.

Head to Falaki for class. Depart with 10 minutes until the next class and remember that it’s now 1430. School’s out for the three local elementary schools, so the streets are crammed with kids in uniforms. Get harassed by elementary-age boys (HELLO HELLO! SEXY? SEXY? as they poke at your arms and sides and occasionally stick out a leg to trip you to prove just how cool they are), get trapped behind the three slowest-walking girls in the entire universe.

Next class on Main Campus. Depart with 10 minutes until the next class. Streets are noticeably more crowded with cars at 1630. (i.e., more jammed than usual, making it even easier to cross) Make it to class on Greek Campus with enough time to run to the bathroom. It’s crowded with girls applying makeup and fixing scarves around the mirror. They give you a dirty look when you ask to please get by to make it to one of the bathroom stalls. One elbows you oh-so-accidentally as you pass and then laughs to the girl next to her. Since you’re white there’s no way you could understand what she says.

Finish class and book to catch the shuttle back. If the shuttle filled up, it left early and you’re screwed. If the professor talked a little too much, you’re also screwed. If the guy driving the 1900 shuttle got bored and decided to leave, you’re screwed. Taking a cab’s not a problem, but it’s LE 5 that you wouldn’t have to spend otherwise. Make the shuttle by knocking on the door and jumping on as it pulls away. No seats, so you stand in the door well. One block from the dorms (one and only destination of the shuttle), you hear the dreaded “Lo samaht?” (If you please?) A girl wants the bus to stop so she can climb out from the back and walk down her street—one block from where the bus is going to stop. Try and climb out of the door well so she can get out. Get hit by the door. Get off the shuttle at the dorms. Drop bag in room and try to decide what to do for dinner.

Head to the dorm’s cafeteria to view the evening’s selections. Long for Leo J. O’Donovan Dining Hall with entire being. Brainstorm with five other indecisive individuals about dinner. Know that you can go to a restaurant for about the same as the cafeteria, but the cafeteria is here and the food is also here, and at the restaurant food may not show up for another 30 minutes. Settle for cafeteria food. Try and remember what salad tastes like. Resolve to never again complain about Leo’s on Sunday nights. Feel more human after decompressing with people over dinner for forty minutes.

Return to room. Open window to air out room a bit. Plug in headphones to block out car horns as much as possible. Begin homework. Try to use Skype and call America. Fail miserably. Miss real high-speed internet. Finish homework to a reasonable degree around 200. Shower, climb into bed. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Luxor

I.
It’s a bit like the MARC train, but shakes more, vibrates harder, and moves slower. We ride second-class. It’s not recommended, but we’re college kids. We can tough it out.
Tickets for the sleeper train are USD $60, first-class tickets are LE 60 (USD $11). Ours are a mere LE 40 (USD $7), for 699 km. Ten years ago, this was probably a nice car. Two seats on each side of the aisle, plush, a footrest, reclining back. But ten years is a while. Now the plush is dirty and stained, and the seat backs recline with the slightest touch. Every half-hour or so, a man with a tray barrels through, chanting “Shay, shay, Nescafe, shay ya rayyis—shay?” (Tea, tea, Nescafe, tea, oh Sir—tea?) Visiting between cars is common, as is loud conversation. Outside is dark. We’ve left Cairo’s glow behind.
In the car behind us, a man begins yelling. It seems he doesn’t want to pay LE 40 to ride the train. Soon other men join in—yelling at him to calm him down. We look at each other and shrug. If that’s the worst, we’ll be find. We’re the only foreigners in the car, and the only other woman wears a brown abaya, niqab, and gloves, and occupies the window seat while her male companion sits on the aisle.
For an unknown reason, this feels like the real world. Perhaps because it is.

II.
The hustlers are bad. Worse than at Giza. Much worse.
We finally make it to Happy Land Hotel. It brings to mind creepy things, like Michael Jackson. But then we realize we left him at Giza along with Mickey Mouse.
Mahmoud at the front desk welcomes us with karkade—a hibiscus tea. He holds our collective hand through checking-in (a process that—with typical Egyptian efficiency—takes about 45 minutes). In that time, Mahmous checks our passports, books us a felucca ride for the evening at sunset, and a tour for tomorrow. We pay, realize that we overpaid, and he gives us the change.
Two rooms for four people each, with three boys and five girls. I end up in the boys room. The cleaning lady keeps walking past and I silently apologize for scandalizing her. The rooms are small, but clean, two sets of bunkbeds with sheets, a blanket, pillow, and a towel. Our room has a bathroom with a shower/tub, toilet, and sink. The only thing missing seems to be a shower curtain. (But the towel on my bed was rolled in the shape of a heart.)

III.
We walked past Luxor Temple in the early morning, now we walk back. LE 20 gets us in as students, and we walk into a courtyard of half-remaining men. Columns everywhere—big, fat stone columns reaching up to the sky like so many giant tree trunks. We pass column after column, wall after wall, covered in carvings and heiroglyphs.
But so much has been destroyed. One way of taking revenge on someone is to chisel their face out of their monuments. By doing so you obliterate their identity—and their soul. Something like 2/3 of the images have faces hackes away, arms in adoration and offering chipped off. Someone, as Evy says in The Mummy, “must have done something very naughty.” We walk from chamber to chamber, grand area to grander. In some places you can still see the pigments from almost 4000 years ago. There’s more to see than we can take in, but we do our best, consulting Lonely Planet upon occasion.
There’s grandeur here, bordering on ostentation, but there’s true piety, too. Someone did this—all of it—because it meant something huge.

IV.
After an unmemorable lunch (memorable only in how greasy it was), we catch a cab to Karnak. We walk in (shrugging off hecklers all the way), and come face to face with what’s left of a road flanked by rams—the sacred animal of Amun-Re, to whom the main Karnak Temple complex is dedicated. It used to connect Karnak to the Nile, but has since been pared down to about 50 yards.
Karnak is huge. A multitude of pharoahs built and planned it. Each one added his own temple, obelisk, stele, courtyard, chapel—you name it. You can’t really take it in—it’s so big, so detailed, there’s just so much. Room after room, wall after wall of relief, of carving, of heiroglyphs. You know from the start that every picture you take will fall short of what you see. But the camera comes out. You can’t really help it. We make our way to the Great Hypostyle Hall. Purposely, I don’t look up, but keep my nose buried in Lonely Planet until I’m in the middle. Then, I look up. The 134 columns tower over me. Truly, tower. The floor space of this one hall—this one room of one temple—is larger than St. Peter’s in Rome and St. Paul’s in London—together (6000m2). Each column is thick stone with carvings over every inch. I stand on the base of it and wrap my arms around. They go maybe 1/6 of the circumference. Between the columns are stone tops—the entire area was once roofed in stone. On those “in between” stones, the heiroglyphs have kept their color. 4000 years old, and the suns are red and the ducks yellow.
The temple Ramses III built is a hit with me. There’s a rather famous relief of him “smiting” his enemies (who seem mostly child-size, extending their hands in supplication that goes unheeded). His temple is full of much larger-than-life statues of himself…I’m not sure how amazing or how entirely narcissistic you must be to build a temple of statues of yourself.
We find more and more. The roofless temples seem to go on. Some places have color, some have extraordinary relief. There are some places that faces have been chipped away, not nearly as much as at Luxor Temple. I find one room, near the back, that has gorgeous carvings, most still with the paint. It’s dark and cool, and looks like not many people visit. But the pharoah depicted has been chipped away in every image. Not just his face—his whole body until all that is left is an outline of a pharoah, looking like a flaked arrowhead.
Trekking one, we pass a guy (American) we’d met with two other Americans over at the Ramses III temple. He tells us about a secret staircase in the corner of the Great Hypostyle Hall. Will and Adam realize that it’s the same place where the “Golden Gun” is in the N64 version of GoldenEye. So if you were curious, that staircase exists. And it’s pretty sweet. Scratch that—really sweet. (Even though it ends, blocked with debris, just feet from the sky.)
Wandering the “open-air museum,” I’m looking for the Temple of Ptah, because Lonely Planet says there’s a beautiful statue of Sekhmet—the lion-headed goddess of war, pestilence, destruction, and medicine (odd, I know). Near the outer wall, a man hisses to me and Will. (We’re quite alone out here—anywhere other than Egypt it would be crazy and I would be frightened. Here I just know he wants to show me something special and get me to give him a few guineas.) “Sakhmet?” he hisses, and I nod. He leads us back to the Temple of Ptah, then opens a gate to show me Sakhmet. She’s life-size and beautifully preserved, absolutely beautiful. He points to a hole in the ceiling, then closes the door to the temple. Light from a small square opening falls in a single shaft over Sakhmet. Beautiful. I give him some baksheesh and leave, satisfied.

V.
We ride a felucca—a single-sail Egyptian sailboat—that afternoon. When we leave, it’s 1500 and the sun is high. Our guide and his two sons sail the boat, and he chats with us a bit. He’s funny, and pokes fun at us girls in a kind, harmless way. We take “glamour shots” in the bow, chat, and goof off. It’s great fun.
We sail to Banana Island. Not like we’ve heard of it, but one guy says everyone told him to go. So we pony up the LE 5 per person, and our guide’s son takes us through the banana groves—pointing out the various sizes of the tiny, unripe, bananas. Muhammad, maybe ten, then shows us the wheel of clay jars used to take water from a deep well and put it in the channels that irrigate the fields. He takes us back to the start of the banana grove, where we sit on long benches and they bring us tons of tiny Egyptian bananas. They’re smaller and tougher than the bananas we get at home, and have seeds. But they’re tasty, as is the sugar cane they bring us, which we gnaw at in a manner hardly civilized.

VI.
It’s refreshing to be back on the felucca. Even for March, it’s warm down here and the breeze feels good. The sun begins to set, turning things golden. It’s not a colorful sunset, but the gold color is so strong, it makes it beautiful on its own.
The guide tells us riddles, while his older son makes tea. We drink sweet, sweet tea as the sun sets on our little boat. We laugh and talk, our voices carrying around us.
Dinner is overpriced and lousy.

VII.
We return to Happy Land around 2100. It sounds early, but nobody slept much on the train, and we’ve been in Luxor since 700.
We sit on the rooftop terrace, eating their much cheaper and tastier food. Everyone is tired, but content. We write in journals, listen to iPods, do a little homework.
Our intrepid gang of eight is at peace. At least for now, we are quiet, each in our own “Happy Land.”

VIII.
Our morning “on tour” begins with breakfast on the roof of the hotel. We clamber onto an air-conditioned van and drive across the Nile to the Valley of the Kings. Our guide today, Nasser, has 50/50 English skills, and has about 60% of his script down.
We ride a tuf-tuf—a tram that looks about like the ones in Disney World—to the Valley itself. We exit into a large, steep valley, with almost sheer sides. And full of people. Full of people speaking tons of languages. German seems popular.
Our first tomb—Pharoah Merenptah—is beautiful until I try and take a covert phtot and get my camera taken away. I was terrified that the gelabiyya-ed guard wouldn’t give it back—and he almost didn’t—but I stared him down, almost started to cry, and he gave it back. Egyptian men can’t handle women crying. Waterworks are an excellent accessory in a tight spot. The inside was really pretty though. (Upon further inspection, the covert picture of the tomb’s inside turns out to be of the guard—looking right at me. Brilliant.)
The next tomb, Thutmoses III, requires climbing up high. It’s the furthest open tomb, and the interior is impressive in the amount of paint still on the walls. It’s beautiful. The Litany off Ra and the Litany of the Hours—both of which we talked about in my Egyptology class—are on the walls. Christine gets her camera taken away, too, but gets it back.
The final tomb, Ramses III, is my favorite. The painted images of deities and the pharoah are gorgeous—and well-preserved. As we walk, I start naming gods and scenes, so I end up de facto tour guide for us (our guide didn’t go in). It’s awesome to see the scenes and the gods from class in person.
After leaving the Valley of the Kings, our guide makes an unannounced stop at Mona Liza Alabaster Fectory. There, his friends (who somehow knew we were coming…) named Mr. Bond (Mr. James Bond) and Mr. Rambo give us a two-minute demonstration on how they make alabaster jars, and then—surprise!—take us into their shop. They give us mint tea or karkade, and invite us to look around. Nothing has prices on it, inviting bargaining. They show us their favorite pieces, and most of us buy something. I bargain with one man in Arabic. He tells me he is determined to make a sale with me, but keeps telling me I am Sa’aba—hard. I drive a hard bargain, and do pretty well for myself. He started at LE 35, I got it for LE 12.

IX.
One of the things I really wanted to see was Hatshepsut’s Temple—el-Deir el-Bahri. (That means The Northern Monastery, from when Christians fleeing persecution came to Egypt and made many of the ancient temples into churches and monasteries.)
It’s huge and beautiful. The stone makes clean, sharp lines against the reddish cliffs that roll gently behind it. Hatshepsut built it while she reigned as queen, but she didn’t take to looking like a queen. In all the reliefs, she appears dressed as a male pharoah—ceremonial strap-on beard and all. The problem is that when you usurp the throne from your stepson when he’s a child, he grows us, takes the throne back, and tries to obliterate your memory. Thutmoses III vandalized much of el-Deir el-Bahri in an attempt to rid Egypt’s most famous stepmother from the common memory.
The temple itself—even minus the reliefs and paintings—is worth it. The architecture is beautiful, and truly amazing. A fitting memory of a very powerful woman.
(I guess that’s what happens when you start sleeping with your architect.)

X.
Medinat Habu is next. It’s the mortuary temple of Ramses III, built on top of temples to Amun that Hatshepsut and Thutmoses III had already constructed. Ramses III was a warrior—like most of the pharoahs—but his track records was impressive. 19 campaigns, 19 victories. Hence, he liked to commemorate his victories and what appears to be his singlehanded slaughter of every enemy. Quite the guy.
The temple is really big—mean to enshrine his warrior glory for all eternity. Several “sunken” reliefs (this temple is unique for using “sunken reliefs” as opposed to plain old reliefs and straight up carving) are huge and rather famous. All involve people or animals being killed by none other than Ramses III. There’s a really nice big one—much like the one at Karnak—of Ramses III “smiting” his enemies. “Smiting” becomes a catchphrase.
Much of the original color is preserved on walls, columns, ceilings—Ramses III making offerings to several deities (all of them blessings and confirming his great deeds, of course). The color is beautiful, making the images jump from the flat walls. Several reliefs show Ramses III going to war, hunting and fishing in his chariot, slaughtering captives (like at Karnak, miraculously only half his size), and in a truly memorable scene, cutting off the hands and penises of his captives. This guy didn’t mess around.
We take pictures in a back chamber of the temple, hiding from the “guards” (lazy men who will point out something you’ve already found and then block the exit until you give them some money) and generally desecrating the dignity of these sacred memorials. It’s a blast.

XI.
Our last stop is the Colossi of Memnon. We’re so tired and hungry that we take a few pictures and decide to climb back on the bus.
It’s relatively impressive, or a pair of statues that completely crumbled and were put back together. But it’s still not the best thing we’ve seen today. (Although you feel bad saying anything around here isn’t impressive—the sheer fact that it’s still around is quite a feat.)

XII.
Our first move upon arrival in Luxor was to get train tickets back to Cairo (since the people in Cairo told us we had to buy them in Luxor). We couldn’t, they said. Have to buy them the day of, they said.
A few went back this morning. Computer’s broken, they said. Plus, there’s nothing left today. Nothing until Tuesday, actually. If you want, he says, you can just get on and try to buy them.
After returning from our bus trip, four of us take a cab to the train station, including the one girl who is a dual American-Egyptian citizen and speaks better than any of us, to fight for some tickets. It doesn’t work. They’re pretty rude to us—especially to Vivette, the Egyptian girl (really, they just ignored the American kids), telling her there’s nothing they can do in not-necessarily-polite terms. We try to book a sleeper train (again, no spots), and then seem to get resigned to our fate: trying to climb aboard third-class cars in groups of two and buying the tickets once aboard. It’s actually illegal for foreigners to ride third-class, but if it’s our only way back, we’ll do what we can.
A bit heavy-hearted on top of exhausted, we return to Happy Land. Vivette decides to talk to Mahmoud, to see if he knows and way to help us. She returns to us with good news: for LE 95 each (and he needs it right now), he can get us on a bus leaving in three hours for Cairo. That looks a hell of a lot better than a third-class train for ten hours. We jump at it, and within half an hour we have tickets to go back to Cairo, plus a van arranged to take us to the bus station. This is, plain and simple, living in Egypt. Just when you’re lost and out of your MIND with confusion and worry, someone manages to arrange something that saves the day.

XIII.
1900, we board the bus that will take us back to Cairo. It’s a coach bus from about fifteen years back, so some of the seats, lights, and air vents don’t work. But we’re headed back.
When we reached the bus station, the sun was setting over bright green fields of sugar cane. The sunset was subdued—graying pastels into blue—with the cliffs of the West Bank fuzzy in the distance. Fog rolled gently across the sugar cane, sneaking between the palm trees that dot the fields. My last view of Luxor—where everything famous is surrounded by hot, hard, bright stone—is of sunset and fog over fields of sugar cane.
And it feels right.

Frustration

I get harassed in the streets. I just do. It happens, and as much as I hate it I just deal with it.

But I should NOT get harassed on campus. If there is anywhere in Cairo I should not be harassed, it should be on the campus of the American University in Cairo. I should be safe there, period.

That really messed with my day.

Marathon Update

Sorry for my lack of updates…as my dad put it, they paid for an awesome six-month vacation in Cairo and someone went and messed it up with homework! So we’ll have a marathon update.

Coptic Cairo: The Copts are a Christian Orthodox sect. The apostle Mark traditionally established the official Coptic Church of Alexandria (to which something like 95% of Egypt’s Copts belong) in the early first century CE. They have their own pope. There is a region of Cairo, aptly named Coptic Cairo, where most of the old churches are, etc.

Last Saturday, a few of us hopped a cab and headed down to see what we could see. Driving there was a bit of an experience. We drove through one of the poorer areas of Cairo; people going about daily lives that certainly don’t resemble mine much. One thing about Coptic Cairo itself, though: it’s far enough from the pollution of Central Cairo (where I spend my days) that everything feels brighter and fresher. The air is so much better.

Getting there, we walked a bit until we saw the first sign that looked like something Coptic (i.e., something Christian). It was a neon sign depicting the Madonna and Child, with a sign next to it “THE CRYPT OF THE HOLY FAMILY UNDER SAINT SERGIUS CHURCH, WHERE THE HOLY FAMILY LIVES FOR SOME TIMES AND THE CHURCH OF SAINT BARBARA.” So we start walking down a small alleyway, lined with little outdoor shops and people selling all kinds of fun religious material. We walk along until we smack into a German tour group who looks lost and is blocking our way, so we turn back around. On the way in, we passed a small garden with a picture over the door of Saint George. We head back there, and head into the garden. Apparently, this is the Convent of St. George, and apparently Copts do St. George in a big way. He’s called “Mar Girgis” here, and is so popular that the main street is call “Mar Girgis Street” and the Metro stop for Coptic Cairo is “Mar Girgis” Station. Interestingly, there’s a reason. We associate St George (well, at least I do) with England, since they’ve kind of co-opted him. But he was historically Palestinian. Need I say more? So we walk from the garden down into a hallway and chapel. To the right is a huge banner that seems to depict Heaven, full of martyrs. Some are drawings of martyrs, some are photographs, and some seem to be photographs of mummies. To the left is a mosaic of Jesus at the well talking to the Samaritan woman (when he talks about giving living water), and underneath of it two small taps with a few cups. With great hesitation I pass on the holy water. Maybe next time.

Inside the main hall are several mosaics and pictures, each decorated with ribbons and flowers. It’s a bit like putting a bouquet at the feet of a statue of Mary in a Catholic Church, but a little more intense. Awesome mosaics, though. The main hall has a huge ceiling and only a few windows at the top. In the back of the hall, we could see a richly adorned (talking lots of gold and teak and very nice-looking fabrics) chapel, but people were praying in there and we felt a little awkward, so we didn’t “tourist” in there.

In the garden outside there was a gazebo with wire sides, and doves inside. I hope they were for releasing at Easter….

Our next stop is the Monastery and Church of St. George (see? I told you he was kind of a big deal here). It’s a Greek Orthodox Church and monastery, so everything is in Greek (at the Convent it was in Arabic). I’d never been in a Greek Orthodox Church before, but it was beautiful. The architecture from the outside seemed to almost resemble a mosque. Whether that’s normal or a smart architect decided not to make every possible wave, I’m not sure. Outside are the church bells. We briefly consider playing a gigantic game of “Ding-Dong Ditch,” but remember that we’re 20. We walk in, and I’m honestly amazed by how opulent it was. Gold everywhere, in the icons of saints, etc they had gold leaf and real jewels. But at the same time, the richness seems to have a purpose. It makes the place feel serious—like it’s somewhere to pray, not somewhere to be loud. There aren’t many lights on, so you can see the stained glass windows perfectly. Simple, but bright and clear. At the entrance, there is a place where you can light a candle. So I do, and right after me two women come in and light their own. Apparently you light the candle and make the Sign of the Cross with it three times in the air before putting it into the sand. Oops.

The Monastery of St George was interesting, we can’t go into the monastery itself but there’s a garden. In the garden are little tiny chapels: you go in, down two steps or so, and there are images of books. If I read Greek I’m sure it would have meant more. But the chapels are each different and very beautiful. Simple, but beautiful. Then we get kicked out of the garden, so we trek on to the next place. One interesting thing was that while we were in the garden, we started hearing not one but three mosques calling prayer. I wonder what the monks think of that.

We wanted to go to the Coptic Museum, but it was closing in a few minutes, so we pass. Flanking the Coptic Museum are two Roman towers. Built around 98 CE, they seem to have stuck around reasonably well.

Next is Kineesat al-Muallaqa, the Hanging Church. It’s called “hanging” because it was built on top of the Water Gate in Roman times. (No, I’m not sure how those two are connected, but I’ll believe Lonely Planet.) It’s a church dedicated to the Virgin Mary from the 9^th (some claim 7^th) century. The outside of the church itself (two bell towers, sharp angles) makes it look like churches at home. The façade, apparently, is from the 19^th century. (So much for thinking the Copts were groundbreakers…) First is an outdoor courtyard with tons of mosaics. All beautiful. The doors into the church itself are mother of pearl and wood. One thing I’ve noticed here: people put a lot of time and effort into churches. I guess it’s because there are very few, but people really seem to put a lot of time and effort and money in. Inside the church are many relics (at which point my camera goes out of battery). The Orthodox faiths seem to do relics more than the Western Church does. One of the neatest things was the pulpit. It was in the middle of the church, with 13 marble pillars supporting it. There’s one in the front, and then six sets of two behind. Guess what that symbolizes…here’s a hint: the black pillar is apparently Judas.

Exploring a bit (i.e., being where we shouldn’t) we make it to the top of the church and can look out over Coptic Cairo. Of course now my camera is dead. But it was beautiful: quiet and peaceful.

Exiting the Church you pass a lot of gift shops near the front (actually IN the church). And they sell some interesting things. My favorite was keychains of your favorite Coptic Pope, until Josh pointed out the AIR FRESHENERS of your favorite Coptic Pope. At least one of those will be making its way back to the States.

We walk down a bit more and find a sign in French pointing to a Maronite Catholic Cemetery. So we head down and in. Most burials here are above ground in family vaults/chapels. At least, most of the burials in this cemetery. It was still active, since we saw headstones from 2006. Some of the chapels were gorgeous. It was completely silent. Absolutely silent. We stumbled across a panel in the ground someone had opened—exposing old crypts. There were definitely bones. Around the back edges, there were high stone walls of cubbyholes, each with a marble slab in front. Those, as Josh aptly put it, are the “cheap seats” for Heaven. Occupancy: one. My favorite part was a gorgeous chapel on the edge. It had been recently redone and was covered in mosaic. Since it was at the edge, however, it was about 100 feet from the next building outside the cemetery: a mosque. On the minaret, facing into the cemetery, was a sign reading in Arabic the shahada—the profession of faith that if said three times in the presence of three witnesses, makes you a Muslim. It says “There is no God but God, and Muhammad is his prophet.” Even in death….

That about ended our Coptic Cairo adventure, but I’ll be back.

Giza: The next night, after Mass, I took a cab down to Giza (where the pyramids are) to meet up with Denny and Rita, two friends from Youth Ministry at home who were visiting Egypt. I got a free buffet dinner at their hotel (who’s gonna complain?), and everyone in their tour group kept asking questions about Cairo, life in Egypt, Islam, etc. I felt knowledgeable (but thankfully the questions were pretty simple).

After dinner we were hanging out in the lobby, where it looked to be decorated for a wedding. People kept pouring in the door. The men looked okay, but the women looked amazing. What my dad would call your “Sunday Hijab” or your “Sunday Abaya.” It was, honestly, like watching a room full of beautiful tropical birds. What was also interesting was watching the generations. Mothers in full abayas, hijab, gloves, and niqab (the one that covers the face with a slit for the eyes) accompanied by their daughters in dresses that I could probably find in the US, with a matching scarf simply tossed over their heads. The bride entered in a beautiful white, wedding gown. It looked much like a dress you’d see at home, complete with wedding veil—no hijab. We waited a bit until everyone started coming back down (about 20 minutes). Then the bride comes back—now in a GOLD dress with a new gold veil (she looked quite a bit like Belle from Beauty and the Beast). She’s on the arm of a much older man as they walk down the staircase. I’m a little sad, but silently wish her the best. He looks old enough to be her father. They get to the bottom of the stairs (there’s men everywhere drumming and –of all things—a bagpiper), and stop. There, a much younger man comes forward, kisses the older man on both cheeks, and takes his place at the bride’s side. Oh…that was her father. Now the fun starts. All of the unmarried folks are in a circle around the bride and groom singing and dancing and shouting. Then the men dance around the bride and groom, then around just the groom, then around just the bride. Then the groom dances with his buddies. The married folks and small children are watching from upstairs. (With the exception of a few boys who insist upon zooming up and down the stairs at every possible interval. Kids are kids everywhere.) All through this, there is a many with a HUGE video camera (looks like a TV camera, with bright lights, microphone, long cord), taping it all. There’s two people assigned to help the camera guy. Serious business! Then they all head back upstairs.

It was certainly a cultural experience, but really fun.

Ballet: Having never been to a ballet at home, but having been to several concerts (of the classical variety…excellent but not quite as fun as Cowboy Mouth) and an opera, I was intrigued to see that Cairo’s Opera House (located in the Cairo Cultural Center) is about a 10 minute drive from the dorm, and on the island. It’s also deathly cheap. Nosebleed seats in the Main Hall (which is built so steeply that you can still see everything perfectly) for students were LE 15…a little less than USD $3.

So we went to see the “1001 Nights” Ballet last night. There were 14 of us (quite a crowd—interestingly enough equal genders), so we all got dressed up and headed out. I did, in fact, wear a skirt. Another girl I was with wore a dress, and we were the only shins showing in the entire audience. Ah well, it felt good to dress up and not be so completely covered. (And heck, they say I have nice legs, why hide ‘em!)

The Ballet itself starts on Cairo time. “Doors close at 8pm sharp and the ballet begins immediately” actually means “The ballet starts around 8:30 and the doors close around 8:40.” Okay, no problem.

Having never been, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it was wonderful. The music was by an Azerbaijani composer, and several of the art/technical folks were also Azerbaijani. About 60% of the soloists were Russian, with the other 40% Egyptian. A multicultural production, indeed! The music was fantastic, though. I don’t know enough to say if the dancers were actually any good (Aladdin did completely eat it during a solo. That was quite a thump.), but I certainly enjoyed it. The one thing you must do with a ballet is read the synopsis very carefully, or you’ll have no idea what’s going on. Act I made reasonable sense, Act II was much clearer. The one thing was at the end everyone kept bowing. It seemed to be “okay, you bow with him and now the three of you and then next you and the other two guys from that group.” It was mostly the principals, so maybe some Prima Donna-ism going on? Who knows. It was fun.

The Opera House itself is absolutely gorgeous. We’ll be going back.

Classes and a Brief Arabic Lesson

I’ve gotten several requests for blog updates in the past couple of days—didn’t know I was so popular! I’ll try and keep this one light and slightly more positive. I guess I came off a little harsh on Cairo last time. But I am firmly in favor of America’s Puritan past: cleanliness being next to godliness is awesome.

I’m a week and a day into classes. I have five this semester—only 15 credits, which I haven’t carried since first semester freshman year! But it has given things much more structure, and something to do with my time. The first is Modern Standard Arabic, the same thing I’ve been learning at Georgetown (exactly the same thing—the definitive “Teach Arabic to Stupid American College Kids” book was written by three professors, one at AUC, and published by Georgetown University Press), it works out well that the lesson I ended with and the lesson we’re beginning with match up perfectly. Most people were not this lucky. The class is small, with almost exclusively semester-abroad white kids. At least I don’t stick out.

Second class is a seminar on Ancient Egyptian Religion. The class is quite small (eight) and the professor is nice and really seems to know what she’s talking about and love it. The workload for it seems pretty minimal: reading, a 10-page paper, a presentation on the paper, and an exam.

Third is Colloquial Arabic. Here’s where we get interesting. Modern Standard Arabic (MSA) is a great language. It has strong grammar rules, pronunciation is regular, and it’s generally a nice language. Unfortunately, nobody speaks it. When the United Nations translates something into Arabic (one of the five official UN languages), they use MSA. Al-Jazeera and the other news networks generally use MSA. The newspapers and textbooks are in MSA. When people make speeches before the Arab League, MSA. Unfortunately, that’s about it. When people talk on the street, when people give directions and order in restaurants and talk with their friends and discuss politics and generally function in the normal world, they don’t use MSA. It’s like asking someone from Hawai’i to speak fluent Shakespearean English. (No, I’m not kidding! One of the oft-used particles in MSA is best translated as “verily…”) So learning Colloquial Arabic is almost like learning a brand-new language.

Colloquial Arabic differs from region to region in the Arab world (all 22 countries of it). There are generally five distinctions: Levantine (Jordan/Syria/Lebanon/Palestine…the Levant in French), Gulf, Iraqi, Maghrebi (Morocco/Lybia/Tunisia/Algeria), and Egyptian. Each of the broad categories is frustratingly splintered into its own (1) national (2) regional (3) city (4) socioeconomic dialects. No joke. Each, of course, swears that it, and it alone, is the closest you can come to pure Qur’anic Arabic—that which the Prophet Muhammad spoke. And scholars of each will tell you that it’s the furthest you could ever get from Qur’anic Arabic! When I talk about dialects, I’m not comparing things like the Deep South versus Boston versus the Queen’s English. The pronunciation is different (in Egypt, the letter “j” is always pronounced “g”), the vocabluary is completely different (at least in English when you say you “read” a book, people know what you’re talking about), and there is a whole new grammar to learn.

But the class itself looks to be a good time, so we’ll leave it at that!

Fourth and fifth are my two Political Science seminars. Both (I didn’t know this) are cross-listed as both upper-level undergrad and upper-level graduate classes, upping the workload, the expectations, and the general ego quite a bit. The first is called “The Empire of the War on Terror,” and seems to be okay. The major problem is that the bulk of the grade (70%) is based on an independent research paper of approximately 30 pages. Yikes! I had the second session today, which was much more discussion, which I appreciated. Although we ended up mostly with people just giving un-informed opinions about the War on Terror and Iraq and “Empire vs. Hegemon vs. Super Power.” I wanted to kick a few folks, but mostly did all right. The second one, “’Delinquent’ Non-State Actors in International Relations,” I haven’t had yet, but got the syllabus for. Looks like a good 200-300 pages of reading per week, with a 3-page paper on the readings each week and a final 20-page paper. The readings look interesting, at least.

Here’s a fun bit about AUC/Egypt: nobody buys the book. Books here cost approximately what they’d cost in the States, maybe $10 less or so. Which makes the ridiculously expensive over here. (Because we all know how awful textbooks are to buy…) What do people do? Copy them. There are three hole-in-the-wall copy shops in the block around AUC’s Main Campus, each of which is more than happy to take the library book you’re supposed to purchase at LE 235 and photocopy and bind it for you for something like LE 50 (and that’s steep). Most professors simply give one copy of the readings for the semester to the copy shop, indicate how many students, and the students come pick them up and pay for them. How illegal does THAT sound??? Copyright laws have no sway over folks making a buck (or pound, as the case may be). The AUC bookstore seems to have caught on. If you try and return a purchased book they give it (and you) the Third Degree to find out if it’s been copied. And if it looks like you’ve cracked the cover once, they won’t take it back. I wonder how Joseph Nye, Michael Walzer, and all the other stalwarts of International Relations that I’ll be reading would feel if they knew this was going on…

Since I blustered quite a bit about Arabic today, here’s a few good words to work into daily conversation for you:
Salaam-u Alaykum: Peace be with you. (The all-purpose greeting for every situation…seriously, use it like “Hi!”)
Wa alaykum a-salaam­: And peace be with you. (The response.)
Izayyak!: How are you?
Shukran: Thank you
Afwan: You’re welcome.
Shwayya: a little bit (as in: Do you speak Arabic? Shwayya. Did you understand a word I just said? Shwayya.)
Mumkin: Possible. (meaning: it may happen next week. Check back in ten days.)
In-sha-Allah: God willing (used to qualify any future event. So that if it doesn’t happen (or you don’t get around to making it happen), then aha! God obviously didn’t will it.)
Ma-sha-Allah!: This is God’s will! (The all-purpose benediction, which you use whenever you compliment someone, their possessions, job successes, children, etc. Used because if you don’t then you’re obviously envious and putting the evil eye on that other poor chap. This is taken seriously here. Not kidding.)
Al-hamdu-lilah!: Thank God! (Used with something like Southern Baptist-frequency.)
Mashee?: Is that all okay? Does that work? (response: mashee.)
Imshee!: Get out of here!
Yalla!: Let’s go! (Made into a verb by a few of us brilliant Americans…ie, “Are we yalla-ing?”)
Ana taaliba fa’eera!: I’m a poor student!
Uskut!: Shut up!
Khalas.: Done. Finished. We’re through.

And until next time: Ma’salaama…(that’s goodbye….literally, Go with peace.)

Cairo

Today is Day Two of actual classes, but I figure I’ll wait until I’ve had every class at least once to write about them.

Instead, here’s some quasi-interesting information about Cairo and life here.

First, Cairo herself: Cairo is big in a way that we in the United States cannot fathom. The ratio of people to square inches makes me now laugh to think that New York or Washington at rush hour are busy. Every hour here is rush hour, every minute you’re passing hordes of people on the street. Walk across central Cairo in something like 30 minutes, and you’ve walked past almost 10 million people. The entire Cairo metropolitan area is something like 400 square kilometers, with 20 million people. Twenty million. But nobody really knows how many people live here. Census figures are a terribly erroneous low-ball at best, and really pretty much worthless.

It’s also dirty. You’re smack in the middle of the desert, so any wind brings sand and grit and grime and trash blowing every which way. 20 million people also make a whole lot of trash, and there’s nowhere good to put it. So much of it sits. Recycling here would have no meaning. When I blow my nose, it’s almost black with grime and sand. Shower, walk down the street, and you need another shower.

Traffic is a joke. On an average street, both sides are parked up completely and there’s something like 3-4 lanes of traffic. Oh…the lane markers are for two lanes, but that’s really just a suggestion. And one nobody takes. There are about six traffic lights in all of Cairo, and again, nobody pays them any mind. People yell and scream at the traffic cops, cursing them and their mothers in a colorful combination of Arabic, English, some French, and what can only be described as grunting noises with some deeper meaning.

Crossing the roads here must be done in a fashion that would get you put on suicide watch in the US. Literally, you walk into traffic. Granted, Cairo traffic is usually moving at no more than 30 mph and drivers and pedestrians live in relative safety and harmony. You walk out when cars are either stopped, or the next one is more than 30 feet away. Holding your hand out towards the car, you proceed until you reach the next lane. Repeat process with the next lane of cars until you’re across. Generally, looking the driver in the eye produces the desired slowing effect.

Everyone in Cairo has their car horns mechanically enhanced, and reminds you of it approximately every eight seconds. You honk when you’re passing someone, when you want to be in the same lane as them, when they’re going too slowly, when someone is crossing in front of you, when you’re giving someone permission to cross in front of you, when you want them to be aware of your presence, and generally when you want to make known to the world that you, the Driver, are out on the roads. Honking one’s horn is also a celebratory sound, often done in rhythm with four or five other cars at obscene hours of the night. Although I should be thankful. At the American University of Kabul I’m sure they shoot AK-47s into the air in all of the aforementioned circumstances.

Cats are everywhere. Not “free range” pet kittens. These are street cats. A surprisingly large number of them look reasonably healthy. Almost all look well fed (there’s lots of places to get a meal around here…read: public trashcans). But they’re just everywhere. Egyptians (and unsuspecting tourists) will pick up and cuddle the cuter ones. Many are content to be handled and petted. I refuse to touch them. At the Georgetown orientation for AUC, returning students told us that one Georgetown student from their semester (name withheld to protect the guilty) came back with ringworm from playing with the cats. But I can’t figure out why they’re here. Two explanations. First, that someone realized a city this massive would have rats (of which I haven’t seen a single one), so the best defense would be an inordinate number of over-reproducing rat-hunters. Second explanation is that it’s what happens when your ancient culture spent some 4000 years revering cats.

Cairo is 90% Muslim, and roughly 10% Coptic Christian. One thing that Egyptian Muslims are very good at is building mosques. And mosques that last a long time. Many of the mosques you see when driving through the city are easily 400 years old, usually closer to 600 or 800. They’re everywhere, really. Go three blocks and you’ve seen at least one. In older areas, go three blocks and you’ve seen two. And they’re beautiful. It haven’t managed to go into but one or two, but even the outside is amazing. The architecture is absolutely magnificent. It’s like living in a city of cathedrals.

Second, Bathrooms: This is an important part of living in Cairo. My dorm used to be a hostel, so it’s fairly generic; my triple room has three beds, three night stands, three desks, three chairs, and three built-in closets. The interesting part is when you walk into the bathroom. Toilets don’t flush like they do in the States. You pull up on a plunger-like knob on top of the tank, and it flushes. Oh, and did I mention that because Cairo’s sewer system is unable to handle anything but *ahem* natural substances (and sometimes not even that!), nothing can go down the toilet? Ladies in the states will be familiar with the warnings to not flush feminine products down toilets, but in Cairo that rule applies also to toilet paper. There’s almost always a tiny trashcan next to the toilet to place that, but it takes some getting used to. (You want me to put what…where??) And Cairo’s toilet paper…that’s a hit-or-miss process. Sometimes the bathroom has it, sometimes not. Public restrooms seem to be at about a 50% hit rate. So you carry those little packs of Kleenex with you.

Maybe 20-30% of bathroom stalls in Cairo are armed with a bidet. Those of you who have been to swanky places in the US and Europe will be familiar with the warm water jet to be used after one uses the facilities. Here, it’s a small spray nozzle and oh my goodness the water is cold.

There’s usually a lady in public restrooms, a bathroom attendant. Cairo’s working population is immense. There are not jobs for all the people here, so the government creates jobs. Unfortunately they didn’t go the “Public Works” route of the New Deal. They just made lots of minimum wage service positions. So you go into the restroom and there’s an old woman sitting in the corner, watching. You go into the stall (nope, no toilet paper this time), come out, and wash your hands. When you finish, the bathroom attendant (now standing next to you, hovering solicitously while you wash your hands) hands you a few squares of…you guessed it…toilet paper to use for drying your hands. For this service, you are expected to give baksheesh, a tip of 50 piasters to LE 1. The pushier ones will demand LE 1, or even LE 2.

Cleaning in Egypt has a different flair than cleaning at home. At home, we clean our bathrooms (public and private) armed with bottles of chemicals and wipes and rags and buckets. The ammonia kills some brain cells, but at the end we are convinced that the bathroom is reasonably hygienic. Here, bathrooms are cleaned using a bucket, a pitcher, and a rag. There is no soap, no chemicals. The cleaning lady on our floor throws water over every surface in the bathroom (floor, sinks, countertops, toilets), wipes it with a rag, and voila! the bathroom is now ready for use. It may sound mean, but I refuse to let go of my need for some kind of chemical to be used in cleaning the bathroom. Until such day as I return to the States, I’ll simply suffer in silence and in the company of many, many germs.

People in Egypt also don’t shower as often. Because 90% of the population is Muslim, they perform wudu, a ritual cleansing before prayer five times every day. Water is rubbed over parts of the body: face, hands, feet, hair, etc, to purify the person for prayer. Spiritually, not a bad idea. (Heck, even a good one.) Physically, however, it doesn’t cut it. Much of Cairo suffers from serious B.O.; even people with well-paying jobs who seem to be able to afford showering seem to…well…not. Which makes things even more awkward when you remember that Cairenes have a very different definition of personal space. Americans (I hear varying tales) are alternately some of the most personal and most impersonal folks around in terms of standing distance. (Think: how far do you stand from someone when you’re speaking? Two feet? One?) Personal space in Cairo is like our American notion of privacy: it really doesn’t exist. So when you’re talking to someone, they’re right there next to you. And sometimes you really really wish they weren’t...

Until next time, I remain your harebrained correspondent from this harebrained nation...

Alexandria

Sorry for the lack of recent updates, life here has been getting busier (which is nice). I also managed to come down with the Black Death (ie, a nasty sinus thing). I just got back from three days in Alexandria—our “Off-Campus Orientation.” The take all the international kids away from Cairo for a few days before the semester starts, which is very nice.

We got up early Tuesday morning and caught cabs over to main campus. (N.B.: Main Campus and the dorms where I live are about a 45-minute walk or a 15-minute drive. Usually there’s a shuttle running between the two but it was before 7:00am so nothing’s up and running.) We got onto the buses and settled in for a three and a half hour ride from Cairo to Alexandria. Along the way we drove past quite a bit. It was nice to see a little more of Egypt because honestly all I’ve really seen is Cairo. I saw green fields backing right up to desert, tiny mud brick houses with a goat tied outside, women and little children working.

In Alexandria, we checked into the Helnan Palestine Hotel. (If anyone thought that Egypt alone from the Arab World didn’t fixate on Palestine, think again.) It’s a five-star hotel in easten Alexandria, which has on its grounds Montazah Palace, a palace of Egypt’s kings in the 20^th century. Now, heads of state visting Alexandria stay there. My room—a double with three girls, so they brought in a cot—looked over Montazah to the left and the Mediterranean Sea to the right. Not too shabby.

We spent Tuesday and Wednesday mostly just hanging out. The food at the hotel was really good (a nice mix of American, European, and Egyptian), and both nights they took us out to dinner. Everything was pretty much paid for, so they just brought us food and we ate! Tuesday was a bit grey and rainy so we walked around the grounds for a while—it’s a big complex—saw the palace and the sea. Wednesday was sunny and warmer, so what did we do on the last day of January 2007? Oh, sat on the beach next to the Mediterranean listening to the DJ playing a mix of J-Lo, Shaggy, European techno, and Arab pop.

Of course we went swimming in the Mediterranean. Of COURSE! But wow it was freezing. So very cold. But I got in, dunked under, and then stood there shivering for about 5 minutes before we decided we’d proven whatever we needed to prove and could now get out. Then I found out that I didn’t have any pictures of me in the Mediterranean in January, so I had to get back in for photographic evidence. I refused, however, to go in very far again. Getting out is hard when your toes don’t work. But I made it out and after about 15 minutes I could feel all ten toes. One thing about the Mediterranean (or at least where I was): it’s gross. It was FULL of trash. Absolutely disgusting, and really a bit upsetting. The Mediterranean was perhaps a letdown on the trip—it’s absolutely gorgeous to look at, at any time, in any light. But once you’re IN it, it’s freezing cold (you do NOT expect it to be that cold) and full of gross things!

The only problem with our hotel being on the outskirts of Alexandria was that everywhere was a long ride. And every time, my friend Olan and I ended up with the most obnoxious people behind us. It made for a good bonding experience, we just had to look over at each other every time someone said something absolutely stupid. Wednesday night after dinner they dropped us at a mall for an hour or so. We went to CarreFour, which seems to be the Middle East’s equivalent of a Super Wal-Mart: fresh and packaged food, clothes, toys, household items, hoardes of adults and screaming children. We found a “politically correct” Barbie (Barbie in an abaya—a loose long overcloak—and a headscarf), located predictably next to the “Belly Dancing” Barbie. Irony? After CarreFour, we walked a bit and located a Cinnabon. I hadn’t eaten Cinnabon in years upon years, until the day I left the US and Suzanne and I ate a Cinnabon in Dulles Airport. But here it is again! One of the guys with us bought one, we took a couple of pinches, and when it was gone we took a great picture of me licking the Cinnabon box. Gross, but oh-so-fun. At CarreFour, two people bought Scrabble: one in English and one in Arabic. So three of us sat up at the hotel until two am playing Scrabble in English. One day we’ll break out the Arabic.

Thursday was our “touristy” day. They got us up early and shuffled us onto the buses to head to three spots in the morning: the Catacombs, the Roman Theater, and Qaitbay’s Citadel. A little old lady (Ebtisam – means “smiling”) climbed onto the bus to be our tour guide. She was very cute, and I understood about 90 percent of her English. The bus, however, was about 85 degrees and everyone had been up late having fun the night before, so we did a lot of sleeping. I felt bad for her and tried to stay up, but failed pretty regularly. The Catacombs were a really neat spot—general catacombs, obviously, but from the first through fourth centuries AD. Most of us associate catacombs with early Christianity, but these had little to nothing to do with Christianity. It was an amazing mix of Egyptian and Greek—but not really a mix. There was Egyptian, there was Greek, but the two were always separate: Medusa protected the tomb above two serpents wearing the double crown of Egypt. In some places, the upper half of the wall was decorated with Egyptian paintings and the lower half in Greek paintings. It was a “never the twain shall meet” situation, I guess. But they were really awesome—carved by hand out of sandstone some 50 feet under the ground. In many places you could still see original color on the walls and columns, scratch marks from the tools they used to hollow out each chamber, and the stucco they tried to put up. Unfortunately, cameras were prohibited inside them, so only a few people snuck them in and took pictures.

Our next stop was the Roman Theater. It’s a bit of a random juxtaposition: in the middle of a rather poor neighborhood in Alexandria, there’s a huge fenced-off area—it’s where they’ve excavated not only a Roman theater, but also Roman baths. And the theater is gorgeous—beautiful white marble, some columns still hanging around.

Back on the bus, and we drove to Qaitbay Citadel. This was my absolute favorite part. Qaitbay was a Mamluk in the fifteenth century, meaning he was a warrior slave in Egypt. He went on to become sultan of Egypt and was a huge patron of art and architecture. He built this citadel in 1477 to defend against Ottoman and Greek encroachments by sea. It was amazing—this 450-year-old structure is probably good enough to serve faithfully today (okay, I guess if we were still using crossbows and fireballs), but is absolutely complete and beautiful. There’s a mosque inside with a marble floor, room after room, and windows. Everywhere windows. Of course by windows I usually mean arrow slits, but they are enough to make the entire building bright and keep the air fresh. The outer wall surrounds the building itself and looks all around the city. Looking out onto the sea, it’s absolutely gorgeous. I really understood why someone would want to defend Alexandria.

Lunch was our last free meal (and even though there’s no such thing as a free lunch, this one was pretty good). Then we trudged back to the buses to head to what everyone knows is in Alexandria: Biblioteca Alexandrina. It’s, of course, not the original structure. Nor does it hold many of the works for which it was so famous in ancient times. It’s honestly a sort of “commemoration” of the Library that was in the city in antiquity. But it does have some really great stuff. We only had about a half hour to look around, but found our way to their display of rare books and manuscripts, which was really pretty cool. They have a copy of a Gutenberg Bibe among many other important works of philosophy, medicine, etc. Most of what they had out are facsimilies, since the paper is so fragile. But beautiful and pretty awesome, all the same. The outside architecture is very striking—writing on it from over 100 different writing systems.

One thing: if you weren’t sure, Egypt does pyramids. EVERYTHING in Egypt has pyramids associated. I’m not kidding. You drive down the street and any famous or important building from the 1800s on incorporates pyramids into the architecture. Occasionally, one thinks Okay, I get it. Pyramids. Overkill?

So we made it back to Cairo, and my sinus thing got a complementary cough to go with it. Pollution is such a great thing, really. Now I’m sitting here hacking up a lung, and going to head over to campus for an activities fair we think is going on today, and also to purchase a webcam!

That’s enough for now. Miss you guys so much. All of you.