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.

Pyramids

So today was the day: my first official Egyptian foray into tourism. (Although I continually told cabbies and hustlers Mish hagawi -- "I'm not a tourist!") Three other girls and I piled over to Giza to see the pyramids, the Sphinx, and other assorteds. Oh, and to ride camels.

We got up early, and met around 0630 to head over, since Lonely Planet said the plateau itself opens at 7am. Of course no cabs were coming by, so we started walking down the road until we could flag one. I lost my first time bargaining with a cabbie. I forgot Haggling Cardinal Rule #1: Never ever ever throw out your desired price as your first option. Oops. So instead of the desired LE 20, it was LE 25 to get there.

We drive up through the first gray and cloudy Egyptian morning I've seen. When we reach the entrance to Giza, we're told it doesn't open until 800. What? Lonely Planet never lies! (There's a reason we simply call it "The Bible.") So a hustler comes over and starts telling us we have to ride horses up to the pyramids. And we say no, thank you. And he keeps up. And I wanted to tell him "we'll walk" (namshee), but end up accidentally saying "get the heck outa here"(imshee). A little more forceful than desired!

So an hour early and nothing really to do, we walk around the street a bit and then head down to the hotel at the end of the block to hide out in their bathroom for a while. When we walk back out, the road in front of us is JAMMED with tour buses. So we high-tail it up the street to where you're supposed to pay the entrance fee to the Giza Plateau. Except, best I can figure, we ended up in the midst of a million tour groups with pre-paid stuff. So we just walked straight in! Oops?!

As we walk up the road, passing the tour groups which are scattering to their various buses and leaders (my favorite was the Japanese group of elderly folks all wearing neon green scarves around their necks to keep them together...reminded me a bit of kindergarteners), all of a sudden there's something behind the fog.

It's a pyramid.

And not just "a pyramid." "The pyramid." Kufu's Great Pyramid of Giza--the one who started it all. Out of nowhere on this foggy plateau, there's a huge pyramid. It was a little amazing. Lonely Planet (now with only a 99% hit rate, we felt a bit betrayed) said only 300 tickets were available each day to enter the Great Pyramid, so we hustled over to the ticket place. LE 50 (since we're students everything's half price) got us tickets into the pyramid. Tickets in hand, we photo-opped in front of the bottom blocks, and then climbed up to the entrance. The men in gelabiyyas (look like calf-length cotton nightgowns and worn by many men here) took our tickets and asked "Camera?" "No," we all happily lied and opened our bags to show no cameras....which were in back pockets and jacket pockets. So we walk in--it's surprisingly and refreshingly warm and dry inside. The stone feels warm, not cold. Quickly we reach the ascent--a four-foot tall shaft with a reasonably steep upgrade. Handrails on either side, and the floor is wooden with horizontal strips every foot or so for steps. It's a longer ascent than we think it will be, but all of a sudden we're standing again. Walk a bit more, crouch and walk a bit more, then enter the Burial Chamber. Surprisingly bare. As in, completely bare except for a vault in one corner that housed his sarcophagus.

Upon exiting, it was a little less foggy, but still pretty bad. Some temple-looking things caught our eye on the left, so we headed over there to check out the pillars in the rock. It was a tomb for one of Kufu's viziers--his Chief Vizier, I believe. The man tells us to come in, and we hesitate. At Giza, you suspect everyone's a hustler. He says "I am watchman, I am not guide, come in." He shows us in the first room reliefs all over the wall. For something this old and this "discovered," the reliefs appear widely intact. We pull out cameras and then turn to see the sign on the door that says cameras and video forbidden (of course). He says "You will not tell outside", passing his hand over his mouth, "but in here, camera okay." So we start snapping away. Reliefs of life and people and animals from five thousand years ago onto digital cameras. He takes us to the next room, a relief-ed (relieved?) false door. At the base are images of the three pharoahs of the pyramids: Kufu, Khafre, and Menkuare, which means this part of the tomb was finished long AFTER his death. The next room is more carvings, another false door. The next room--the tomb room, now bare but for the reliefs along the walls and the carved heiroglyphs--is a place for more pictures, and, says our "watchman," a good place for meditation. We give him good--even extravagant--baksheesh, but getting the pictures was a blast.

Exiting the tomb, we head to the second pyramid--Khafre. We pay the entry fee (not as steep as Kufu, LE 15 instead of LE 50), and walk past the guards who ask "Camera?" "No." We enter heading down, this time. In the Burial Chamber there is nothing on the walls, again. Just another reminder that the inside of the pyramid was uniportant compared to the statement made by its sheer presence. Nothing on the walls except what looked like charcoal, high up: Scoptera de G. Bolazoni 2 Mar 1818. Guess we know who made it in. We take more pictures here, and then head out.

After two pyramids we're a bit done with dead things, so we start down the Causeway and there is a round shape ahead of us, after what looks like a steep drop. "God," I said. "That's the Sphinx." We're looking at the back of its head. Lonely Planet quotes someone famous as making a stellar observation: seeing the Sphinx is like meeting a tv personality for the first time--it's much smaller in person. Abu al-Hol ("Father of Terror") is not terribly big, despite the excellent photography used to make it look like he just hangs out at the base of Khafre's Pyramid (he does, I guess...what's a few hundred yards between friends?). We head over--finally something free!--and start getting pictures of the Sphinx, us and the Sphinx, the Sphinx and a woman in an atrocious paisley denim set....

Sitting a bit away from the Sphinx and crowds of Japanese and German tourists, we enjoy some granola bars (Snickers Marathon Energy is some good stuff when you haven't eaten all morning), until a man on a camel comes to the other side of the fence. He asks if we want to ride four camels into the desert and around the pyramids. All morning we've been pushing people off, waiting for when we feel like it. He says LE 20 (Lonely Planet suggests LE 25), so we look at each other and decide: Sold!

We walk around, and he comes over with two other men, and four camels in all. We get on the camels (the guides each get on with one of the girls, I end up with my own camel which suits me fine), and walk up a path. Then we gallop a little, then walk. We slow to a stop and the man gets down from his camel and starts to talk about the pyramids, and how he'll take us around them and the desert and tell us all about them. Some people, he says, will pay 120 pounds, 150, even 200. I give to you for 80 Egyptian pounds each. Photos and everything. SHOOT! Up on the camels already, and a ways away from where we started (okay, like a 15 minute walk). We start looking at each other, a little panic. I try to bargain a bit with him, lying that other friends had gotten a similar tour for 60 each, but he doesn't buy it. In retrospect, the guides must all set a baseline and agree not to go under it...typical oligopoly behavior (I can't believe I just brought microeconomic theory into my blog....), and I gave a price under it. So we look at each other and finally decide, what the heck. We're here, we all very much wanted to ride camels today, and LE 80 is something like USD $15. For $15, would I ride a camel three times around the ring at the zoo? Probably not. For $15, would I ride a camel around Giza for an hour? Probably yes. So we set off. This time a guide climbs onto my camel, and I'm in back. I refuse to hold onto him, instead scooting back to the edge of the saddle and holding the saddle on either side. It works, even when we gallop. The next time we pause, he gets onto the camel he had been on.

(NB: Lonely Planet is very up front and borderline fatalistic about riding horses, camels, and donkeys in Giza. They give disaster scenarios about being forced off your camel far away and them charging awful sums to take you back, guides mounting the camel behind women, and the guides being generally awful people. I therefore spend this entire ride not really enjoying the ride, but more worried thinking "When are they going to scam us? How do we best stay together? I have to always be able to see Giza." The other girls report that each guide tries to sweet talk them, one said Lindsey was worth 200 camels, two chickens, and the Great Pyramid. The guides also liked to gallop because then the girls put their arms around the guides' waists. They would hold the girls' hands and kiss their hands. I felt so bad when they told me, wishing that the guide had stayed on my camel, since at least I knew how to handle it. Unfortunately, P.T. Barnum is a brilliant man, and if I go back again I still won't trust any of them an inch.)

Here's another note. Every camel in Giza is apparently named "Michael Jackson" or "Mickey Mouse." I feel for the former, and am thankful I rode the latter, since Mickey Mouse seems to bestow a more docile temper. (But if your name was Michael Jackson, wouldn't you be grumpy?) And after riding a camel for an hour, your inner thighs HURT from holding on...but I thought camels would be harder to ride. They're very easy.

By the time we finish the camel ride and taking pictures we're a little wiped, but we want to see the Solar Barque, currently the oldest known boat. Pharoah Kufu had five cedar-wood boats bear his sarcophagus down the Nile to Giza, and the boats were buried at the base of his pyramid to transport his soul to the Afterlife. One of these boats was found and excavated basically intact. 4600 year-old cedar, restored to be just about seaworthy. It was worth the price of admission to go in and see this thing. First, it's huge. It really is a massive boat. Second, it's held together with no planks, no nails, no studs. It's a rope-boat. The boat is held together with knotted ropes on the inside and in between that swell when wet, making the boat watertight. Third, the little museum below had bits of the original rope and original matting that covered the cabin. 4600 year-old plant fiber, still around. I sound like Indiana Jones gone silly, I know, but just something that fragile, that old, still being around. Oh, and fourth, you have to wear these canvas booties over your shoes to keep out sand.

By the time we got out, we were pretty well wiped. I had to stand in line for a good 25 minutes to use the bathroom, and when we regrouped all we wanted to do was leave. It was about 1300, and it was getting BUSY. One surprising thing was the amount of Egyptians I saw touring there. I expected only foreign tourists, but by the time we left it was mostly Egyptian families out for a Friday (weekend) jaunt. One cab driver asked if we needed a taxi, and wanted LE 50. I said LE 15. He got pretty angry, so I told him we were going to the restaurant and left him blustering. At the hotel at the bottom of the hill (same place we'd used the bathrooms this morning), we walked into a cafe sort of thing, and got two teas and two coffees. We were wiped and wanted something to keep us going to get home. We enjoyed them (the room was beautiful--the hotel was built as an 18th-century hunting lodge for the King), and then got the bill. A cup of tea (plain old Lipton) was LE 16. That's about USD $3. Outrageous!! But we paid and left, feeling that the sitting down and relaxing was probably worth the gross price.

When we left, the man at the gate offfered to take us back to Zamalek (where we live) for LE 50. I said LE 15. He blustered more, but went to LE 45. I stuck to my guns, using my favorite excuse in any language--"We're students!" He blustered, saying nobody would take that price. Another comes over and says LE 40. No. Three are coming towards us and one shouts LE 25. SOLD! We jump in his cab and head out. Supposedly you can do it for LE 20 if you're good, but I'm still learning to haggle. From LE 50 to LE 25, though...not bad.

So we returned, and I spent a good two hours getting my photos up and running. If I missed "sharing" my Kodak album with you, please let me know. I wish Kodak would just give me a URL to post. The pictures are pretty darn good.

Tomorrow, sleeping in and Khan al-Khalili, a huge outdoor market. (Darn, and I was hoping to put away Lonely Planet for a few days....)

Egyptian Pizza and ID Cards

What...I missed a day? Oh well. To be honest I was so physically and emotionally exhausted last night that I just took some time for me. I replied to emails, read a book, and went to bed. Didn't even bother with the "going out" thing.

Yesterday had its ups and downs. But an interesting story nonetheless.

For lunch, four of us girls decided to try and find a falafel place we had seen on the "Tour of the Hood" earlier that morning. (The club 'Friends of International Students' did an hour-long walking tour that showed us the three main parts of campus, the post office, a good koshary place--oddly enough the same place I'd eaten on Monday!--, and the US Embassy.) So we headed back after a few wrong turns. We got there and a man standing on the street beckoned us in. It was tiny, rather dimly lit and dingy, but we sat down anyways. I wanted to try fuul (fava beans), and the other girls asked for shawarma. The man said ok (we were having a little language trouble...my food vocab is lamentable), but another old man came back a few moments later. He started talking to me about how they didn't have much chicken at all but he would bring two meals--each with half the chicken. We said ok, and he gradually starts bringing back food: two bowls of tahini (sesame seed paste), two bowls of a tomato/onion salad, and lots of bread. Then comes the plate of, here you go, homemade potato chips! Not UTZ but fun all the same. Then two plates of rice, and then two plates bearing this delicious chicken. It was grilled and the spices on it were amazing, absolutely amazing.

The man that keeps bringing us the food--the only waiter I guess--is this tiny round wizened man who looks like he's about 80. That means he's probably about 60. He doesn't have several teeth and walks with a limp. Then he makes his way back with four sealed bottles of water (I harp on the seals...since there are so many empty water bottles around people sometimes refill them with tap water and sell them) and a tiny package of tissues. All this time I'm using the best and most Arabic I can to thank this man, who is trying so hard to give four American girls a good meal. Whenever I complimented him, he would always say Allahu alaik, sort of a "May God make you thus."

Was he looking for a good tip? Yeah, probably. But we had a two-hour sit-down lunch for four for LE 40. We gave him a LE 5 tip which is a bit extravagant but he was so kind. Baksheesh is a hard thing in this country. People say that fifty piasters or one pound is good, but restaurants seem unclear. I usually end up tipping more in hole-in-the-wall places than the nicer places. But that's just me.

I didn't tell the girls I was with but I definitely watched a mouse run all over the floor in the kitchen (which I could see into). But I'm not sick, nor are they. So I got a good story of a sweet man and a chicken! And two men brought the cutest little girl in. She was obviously one man's daughter, but was something like 18-24 months and just adorable. She was standing on her chair chatting away to her father and to the waiter.

Also yesterday was my course-selection oddessy. Having been told it was difficult and that the advising woman was really mean, I stressed over it. The advisor blustered a bit ("Requesting a Senior-level Egyptology class with no previous experience? Hmph!"), but gave me all five classes I wanted. I ended up with what I think will be a good schedule:
--Intermediate Arabic
--Introduction to Colloquial Arabic
--Ancient Egyptian Religion and Ethics
--PolySci Seminar: Empire of the War on Terror
--Int'l Relations Seminar: 'Delinquent:' Non-State Actors in International Politics
This is the first time I've tried to "fix" my schedule. People at GU do it regularly (the MSB does it by default)--try to give yourself no classes on Friday. Here, I gave myself no classes on Sunday, which is the first day of the work week. So every weekend my weekend matches up with (and extends!) my American weekend--starts Thursday night and goes until Sunday night. I wasn't REALLY trying to do that, but it just started working out that way and I helped it along. I didn't really turn down any thrilling classes because they were on Sunday.

This helps, however, because I can now extend any weekend trips. One girl that I'm friends with has no class on Sunday until about 1600, and another has only late Sunday classes as well. I hope I don't get TOO used to this!

Last night was the "Dorm Orientation." It was nice to have questions answered (laundry, after what hours you must sign in and out, housekeeping, the admonition to not get married in Alexandria--some girl went for a weekend and came back married. He spoke no English, she spoke no Arabic. CRAZY.), and they fed us! Lots of free....are you ready?....DOMINO'S PIZZA! Although Egyptian Domino's is different. Crust is much chewier (more like a flatbread with yeast than a sweet roll dough like we have in the US), and toppings are different. Egyptian sausage pizza is not recommended. After one bite that went into the trash. I did, however, scarf three pieces of what I can only describe as "Cowboy Pizza." BBQ sauce, cheese, onions/peppers, mushrooms, olives, and chicken. There was shrimp with peppers and mushrooms--they told me I wasn't missing much. In Egypt the accepted dipping sauces for pizza are BBQ and ketchup. The BBQ I can see, especially since it was what seemed to be the pizza sauce of choice. But ketchup on pizza? I passed.

Today I applied for two ID cards: my dorm ID and my gym ID. And you'll say Mary Claire, aren't you getting an AUC University ID, and aren't the dorms and gyms part of AUC? And I'll say Yes! That's true, but here you also need an ID to get into your dorm/ride the shuttle and get into the gym. Part of the gym ID process was a medical exam. And you'll say Mary Claire, didn't you have a full physical including blood work, an HIV test, and a tuberculosis test that was required by AUC to go? And I'll say Yes! That's true, but here you also need a doctor at the AUC clinic to fill in Chest:___________ HR: ________ BP: _______ Fit to use Gym: ________ or not fit _______ Doctor's signature: __________.

So I went to the clinic. Two nurses took my blood pressure and sent me out to wait for the doctor. Apparently here you're not called for the doctor, when one person walks out the next simply walks in. Thank goodness there was a kind man who asked if I was waiting for the doctor, otherwise I would have probably sat there for a few hours very confused. When I walked in the doctor immediately checked off the "Chest/HR/Fit to use Gym" columns and then turned to me and said "Do you have any complaints about your chest or heart?" "No." "Okay." She signs it, explains in Arabic that she's the physician-in-residence (well, for two hours three days a week) at my dorm, and tells me where to go to finish out getting the ID. Unfortunately she did it mostly in colloquial so I had to smile sheepishly and ask for English. She gave me the directions and said "Next time I see you at the dorms, no english!" And laughed. So I turned that in, and by Sunday I should be fully official. Until then I'll have to count on the gym attendent letting me in. Which he'll likely do if I'm in shorts. *sigh*

In case you were waiting with bated breath, Luxor fell through. Bummer!!! They sleeper train that you take down was booked through the weekend. So we picked another weekend (late Feb) to go. This weekend we'll do the Pyramids of Giza on Friday and the pyramids at Shaqqa and Dahshur on Saturday. A little pricey because Giza especially is a tourist trap, but Egypt without seeing the pyramids? Please! And it might be a little hard because we're all Americans, but inshallah my Arabic will help.