Who Is Addis Ababa? Our First Days In Ethiopia

We are in Ethiopia, a land of unimaginable natural beauty where the people have a pride in their culture that I had never seen before.

First there was Addis Ababa, the capital. We entered Addis with a list of demands.

1. Find a place to stay
2. Purchase an Ethiopian phone card
3. Get typhoid and meningitis vaccinations and malaria pills

As mentioned previously, I lost our only working cell phone (Mat’s) on our last 10 hour bus ride in Egypt. Luckily, we still had my phone. But after buying an Ethiopian phone card, we realized that my phone was locked! So we had to go through the process of contacting my carrier to request a code to unlock my phone. In a country where internet connections are shoddy even when you pay for them, it took a whopping 3 days of making countless failed attempts to make a successful international call.

The second order of business was getting vaccinations and malaria pills. The prices for these vaccinations in the states are astronomical but in other countries we can get them for less than $20. I already got a yellow fever shot in Cairo, so I’m a pro at getting shots in foreign African countries! Don’t worry. The vaccines come in sealed packages so we always know they are legit. I would love to say that this is a simple process, but finding a clinic that offers these vaccinations takes the larger part of a day.

Somewhere in the middle of all this “business handling” we met Ras, the guy who would become our main man in Addis. Walking down the street on our first day, I pointed to a poster for a jazz concert. Mat and I stopped to look and there appeared Ras.

“Do you want to see that?,” he said.

“Yeah, but…” I replied, trying to find a way to avoid a conversation.

We’ve been traveling long enough to know that 9 times out of 10 when someone approaches you on the street, chances are they want money. He began to tell us that he’s a musician and he knows the band. Is he trying to sell us tickets?

Soon he’s walking with us and the next thing we know he’s taking us to a place to buy our phone card. He explains the process to us and helps us make a smart purchase. We’ve learned that in Ethiopia many places charge faranji prices; that is, higher prices for foreigners who they call faranjis.  This is very frustrating for people traveling on a budget, like us. Having a local with you when you make any purchase (or even order at a restaurant) can save you some bucks.

Even so, our guard is still up. What does he want? Why is he still here?

He notices that our guard is up. He tells us that he doesn’t want any money, that he’s our friend.

It’s not until he tells us that he’s a couchsurfer that it all makes sense: His friendly, open manner; the way he willingly gives his time and constantly insists that “it’s no problem” are a dead giveaway.  We finally let our guard down.  It seems that the travel gods have brought another angel our way.

Ras also takes us all around town the next day looking for a clinic that offers the vaccinations we need. He translates for us and takes us to 3 different clinics (1 which has been razed to the ground) and a pharmacy until we finally get our malaria pills and our meningitis shot (no luck with typhoid).

After all of our “business handling” we take some time to enjoy the city. Addis Ababa is not what you see at first glance. At first glance, one sees a sprawling city with hills that remind you of San Francisco; broken sidewalks with gaping holes; abandoned buildings and long stretches of corrugated tin walls painted yellow, green, and red; countless disabled or homeless people on the streets; barefoot children selling gum; and areas of construction work that seem like they’ll never be complete. People don’t seem even remotely pleasant. As in most cities, the average person is just trying to get where they’re going. But in addition to this normal city vibe, people occasionally stare at us openly. I wonder if I’ll ever let my guard down.

Then, one night Ras takes us to see some traditional Ethiopian song and dance and we finally see another side of the city. First Ras takes us to a large, beautifully decorated restaurant, with a prominent stage, filled with groups of tourists. On the stage a dance group of 4 men and 4 women in traditional Ethiopian attire is dancing to music played by a 5 piece band. Their dancing is full of energy with quick light jumps and a type of shoulder jerk that I’d never seen in my life. They jerk their shoulders and their chests so powerfully and quickly that they seem to not be attached to their bodies. They come into the audience to get people on their feet and to try the peculiar shoulder dancing. Locals join on stage when the spirit hits them. A group of Japanese girls all dressed in the same outfit get on stage and tear it up. We’re all surprised at how quickly they get the moves. The dancers come to our table and we each get up and have a turn at the shoulder moves. Everyone is having a good time.

During the show the dancers leave the stage periodically and we just listen to the band, which is sometimes joined by various singers who sing songs from the different regions and tribes of Ethiopia. Each time the dancers return they are in different attire signifying the region and tribe of the dance they will perform. It blows my mind that these dances have been preserved and are danced by young people who are perceptibly proud of them.

Soon we are ready to go and Ras decides to take us to a less touristy place. We are curious about how most locals experience their traditional song and dance outside of a huge tourist spot.

We arrive at a small dimly lit club. The floors are cement and there is grass strewn all over them for decoration. There is no stage. There is no amplified sound. The singer walks through the tables singing in the particular traditional Ethiopian style. It is a rich sound that seems like a type of moaning punctuated with high, belting pitches. It is kind of like the blues and kind of like Irish folk singing. It is amazing.

The rhythms of the drum and the melody of the single stringed masinko are infectious. Soon people stand at their tables and dance moving their shoulders in that quick jerk. There is a small dance group that does the traditional regional dances and comes to the tables to dance with people for tips. It is difficult to keep up with the complex rhythms of their dancing. Each move seems to begin between a beat, catch up with it, slow down again, and then surpass it. The energy of this small club is palpable. Locals, mostly young people, seem to come here to enjoy themselves but to also feed their souls. It seems like a spiritual experience. I sip tej (Ethiopian honey wine) out of what looks like a beaker and am lulled into the experience.

My beaker of honey wine on that mesmerizing night

When the night is over, we wonder what hit us. Who is Addis Ababa? Yes, the city suddenly seems like a person. He is mysterious and enigmatic, hard to capture. And before you know it, he has pulled you into his web. He has an unexpected charm and a glow you only find in the quiet moments between the noise.

The men of a traditional dance group

Modern looking buildings, people dressed in Western clothing, and donkeys in the street. The contradictions are endless. Who is Addis Ababa?

Masquel Square with a poster for The Great Ethiopian Run. We were at the run but we somehow missed the runners.

Trying the shoulder dance with a traditional dancer.

Beginnings and Endings

We are in Luxor, a city in Egypt that is renowned for its monuments and tombs like Karnak and The Valley of The Dead. After our boat trip on The Nile, we take 2 trains to get to Luxor. When we arrive, we are exhausted and it is hot. We follow our next host, Ismael, through the busy streets and take a short ferry ride across the river to what will be our modest home for the next 5 days. Ismael is a middle-aged man with a penchant for worrying that is apparent as soon as one meets him. Without knowing why, he seems worried for us. He tells us where to do groceries, advises us against using a particular bakery, and gives us many words of traveler’s caution. While I appreciate the advice, I am tired and eager to relax.

I sleep for the rest of the day. While I am resting, Mat and Wes hit the town and discover what they call “the best sandwiches ever.” They have met Mahmoun, the sandwich man. Mahmoun owns a shop near the end of the main road leading to the ferry. He makes the most delicious chicken shawarma, which he serves on fresh warm Egyptian pita along with the customary pickled vegetables. We will eat his sandwiches almost every day that we are in Luxor.

Later in the day, Ismael delivers us 3 bikes. The bikes represent freedom and a bit of familiarity. Somehow riding through the streets on a bike helps me know the place better and feel less like a visitor.

The following day we are invited to have lunch with Ismael and his family. He tells us several times to have a light breakfast because there will be plenty of food. We ride an unpaved road to his home. We take off our shoes to enter and sit down to talk before we eat. I am immediately struck by the fact that his wife is not present for socializing though I know she is at home. It is only after I ask about her that he calls her out and introduces her. After being introduced, she goes away again and I am left with a gnawing curiosity about her and her life. I hope that she will join us for lunch, but she doesn’t.

We also meet Yasmin, Ismael’s 7 year old daughter. When she is introduced, she comes to me and gives me a hug. It is such a nice warm exchange that we smile at one another and she immediately hugs me again. I say thank you as we hug. Because hugging is so distinctly American, this is the first one I have had as a greeting since we have begun our journey. My heart is filled with gratitude. Later in the afternoon, she sits next to me and we look at her English school workbooks and she “practices” her English with me. She is shy and we don’t understand each other’s language, but somehow we enjoy each other’s company. She is clearly the apple of her father’s eye and I understand why.

When we leave, I feel bad that I don’t have picture with Yasmine, but I tell myself its ok because Ismael has invited us to spend time again before we leave. Unfortunately, that never happens. One of the things I am learning about photos is that you must get them when you can. Everything is day by day and time is limited, so you can’t rely on seeing someone or something “the next time.” Often there is no “next time.”

After lunch, we take a long ride up to where the various tombs and valleys are like the tomb of Hatshepsut and The Valley of the Kings. We watch the sunset on our bikes. It is a simple and magical evening. Over the next days we will visit these tombs and be astounded by the intricacy of detail and marvel at how they have survived.

Soon it is time to leave Luxor and go to our next city. On our last night, we have sandwiches at Mahmoun’s one last time. We spend hours sitting and talking to him. We have tea, smoke shisha, and get all the information that he can offer on the best places to visit in Cairo.

Mahmoun’s sandwiches

Mahmoun the sandwich man

Enjoying tea, sandwiches, and shisha on our last night in Luxor

The next morning we ride the ferry to catch our train to Cairo. Another 10 hour ride. After one night in Cairo we get a bus to Siwa. We ride through the night and arrive early the next morning.

Siwa is an oasis town in the Libyan desert. When we arrive, I immediately notice that people are uninterested in our presence. This is different from everywhere else we have been in Egypt. No one stares at us, no one says “Welcome” when we pass, and no tries to coax us into their shops. They are a self-contained people who are content with their way of life. I find this refreshing. It is nice to not be reminded everywhere you go that you are a tourist.

Later that night, we have plans to meet Hadi, a couchsurfer. We walk a long way down a sandy road only to find that we have misunderstood the place to meet him. He comes to meet us on the road on his motorcycle. He is wearing a helmet, which I had not seen anywhere else in Egypt. When I comment on this he says, “Yes. I love my life” and tells me the percentage of deaths caused by motorcycle accidents in Siwa. I like him immediately.

The 3 of us hop on the back of his friend’s pick up truck. Our first stop is a place to rent bicycles. Then, we will go see the sunset from Hadi’s house, which is at the top of a beautiful mountain called Dakrur. He shows us his garden as well as his house, which he is in the process of building in the traditional Siwan way, with mud (mixed with grass, date seeds, and small stone) and stone from the mountain. He has 2 adorable children, ages 4 and 2. In Siwan culture, married women can only be seen by other women when they are not wearing full hijab. Their attire is a full black hijab that covers the entire face, including the eyes, which are covered with sheer fabric.

As the only woman, I am the only one allowed inside the house to meet Hadi’s wife, Asma. She is a stunning woman with a warm smile. I offer to help prepare the tea, but she refuses. I once again feel the familiar longing for the company of women. I want to stay inside and chat with her. What is she like? What does she like to do? What is her life like here? But she does not speak English and I do not speak Siwan. I join the men.

Asma rings a little device that sounds like a bird chirping when the tea is ready. Hadi goes inside and brings out tea that has lemongrass from their garden, which they call Louisa. Soon the bird chirps again and they serve 2 kinds of dates from his father’s garden, sunflower seeds, and what seem to be small pumpkin seeds. Siwa is known for its dates and olives. I have never tasted dates like these in my life. I want to sing every time I taste one.

Hadi tells us all about Siwan culture. Siwa only became a part of Egypt a few hundred years ago. They do not consider themselves Egyptian and speak Siwan (a Berber language) instead of Arabic. They are doing very well economically and there is no unemployment. Many young people have more than one job.

The sunset is breathtaking and soon it is dark enough to lean back and look at the stars. I feel as if we are in a sort of paradise. We laugh and talk for hours. We find out that Hadi is a big Jim Carrey fan and conversation with him is interspersed with Jim Carrey references and impersonations. He is also fluent in French, Arabic, English, and Siwan. We talk about travel, agriculture, religion, and astronomy, among other things. He also tells us about Siwan weddings, and brings out the shawl that Asma wore on their wedding day. It is embroidered by her mother and sisters with symbols and designs. He allows me to try it on and I wonder what it would feel like to be a part of such a strong tradition. Sometimes we sit in the silence and it is broken by Hadi’s lone laughter and he admits that he is remembering a Jim Carrey moment.

Trying on Asma’s wedding shawl

Our friend, Hadi and the dates from heaven

The sunset at Hadi’s

 The next night Hadi takes us to a hot spring, which Siwa is also famous for. I can’t believe we are swimming in a naturally occurring hot tub under the stars. We have hot tea with Louisa and sit around a fire continuing the easy conversation from the night before. I am sad to think that it is our last night here. I don’t want to leave.

The next day we try to go to another hot spring on an island called Fatnas, but the directions we have are not very clear. Before we know it, we have been biking for over an hour and we are, more or less, lost. It is hot and we see no people anywhere. We thought that we would see a market to buy water but we didn’t, so we are riding without water in the middle of no where. We are getting anxious, but the scenery is so beautiful that I decide to just do my best to enjoy the ride. After over 2 hours of biking, we finally arrive at Fatnas. Unfortunately, there isn’t much to see and the hot spring does not look appealing. We have tea and dates and bike back to town.

We made it!!

That night we take a 10 hour bus ride back to Cairo. It is one of our last nights together before Wes leaves. We are all feeling sad that this part of our adventure is coming to an end. On the bus ride, Mat gets a stomach bug and throws up the entire time. I empty plastic bags for him and do my best to keep him comfortable. It is one of the worst nights we have ever spent. We arrive in Cairo shortly after dawn and quickly get a cab to our home base, Pension Roma, the hotel where it all began. The next day Wes will leave to go to India and the day after, we will leave to go to our next country, Ethiopia.

We say heavy goodbyes and talk about the highlights of our time in Egypt. None of us can believe any of it actually happened. We are filled with gratitude for our time together and for the peace of belonging to our little family. We know that while this is one ending, it is the beginning of many adventures to come.

 

Mat on the ferry to leave Luxor

Lost and tired but determined to enjoy the scenery

I was singing at the top of my lungs and probably getting on Wes’ nerves

Our fearless leader at the top of the mountain

A man ordering food from a street vendor with his donkey. Our last night in Siwa

 

A Nubian Island, 3 Days on The Nile, New Friends, and Camels

Elephantine Island is off the coast of Aswan in Southern Egypt. Aswan is a short ferry ride across the river, but Elephantine is a world unto itself. It is a Nubian island with no cars or motorbikes, which is a rarity in Egypt. We pass donkeys, sheep, and chickens on the narrow dirt paths that wind between the houses and buildings. We are immediately transfixed by the tranquility of the island. We are staying in a house that was built by our host’s brother-in-law. With domed exposed brick ceilings, thick cement walls and unmovable cement furniture molded into the walls, it is a stunning example of Nubian architecture. The house rests on The Nile and there is a patio where we can sit and enjoy the view.

 

Our host, Gasser (pronounced Yazzer), has a mellow and gentle way. He gives us a tour of the island on our first day. He greets everyone we encounter. We go to a house that belongs to his uncle that functions as a small museum of Nubian crafts.

Before going to get the ferry to explore Aswan, Gasser takes us to an open space near the ferry. It is a textile shop of sorts and we watch the men who work there weave scarves made of beautiful wool from the island.

We also visit the island’s middle school and are introduced to man named Badry who is especially excited to meet us. We run into him again the next day and he asks that we come back to visit the school before we leave.

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It is 1:30am. I cut a large mango and pack the slices. Mat boils water to soak fresh dates. We pack the mango, dates, small grapefruits, oranges, and Egyptian bread. Gasser is meeting us in 1 hour to get us on a ferry from Elephantine Island to Aswan. Then we will catch a mini-bus escorted by a military officer in a convoy of other busses to visit Abu Simbel.

It is the first time in our trip that we are in a group of other tourists. I sense a bit of shock in my consciousness when a white woman in shorts, a tank top, and sandals boards the van. She is with her husband or boyfriend and after they take the seat in front of us, he puts his arm around her shoulder and they kiss. Mat and I have been very careful to display no PDA here in Egypt. I have no shorts in my luggage and some days I wear long sleeves despite the heat. I always carry a long sleeved shirt or scarf to cover my arms and head if necessary. Clearly, not everyone respects the local customs to the letter. Dealing with my feelings of judgment about this is something that I will encounter regularly when I see other tourists.

It is a 4 hour ride. I sleep most of the way. When I wake up I am amazed to see a landscape of desert sands. We have arrived. I am immediately captivated by Lake Nasser and take out my camera. But the lake is not the main attraction here. Mat and Wes get in line to buy our tickets.

Soon we see the iconic carving on the mountainside. When I look at it, I feel as if I understand the meaning of the word “monument” because it is monumental in every sense. I take as many pictures as I can before Mat says that he wonders if we can angle the camera to get one of us in the “empty” seat. It works. I can’t believe we are here.

Then we go inside the temples. The art carved in the walls, the hieroglyphs, the layers upon layers of meaning that I can’t begin to understand make me reflect on the temporal nature of things. What would the artists and craftsmen think if they saw the temples now? I also think about how all the art was for, or about, their Gods…or more precisely, the pharaoh’s (in this case, Ramses II) favorite Gods. What lengths can belief in a deity take one to? These are the facts of existence that we usually take for granted, but when we see a gesture of devotion so momentous, it is impossible to not be amazed at the profound impact that religious belief systems have had on the lives of humans for millennia. The profundity of the imagination is undeniable, irresistible even.

After Abu Simbel we go out in search of koshari, an Egyptian meal of chopped macaroni and noodles, rice, lentils, chickpeas, deep fried onions, and tomato stew. We had it almost everyday in Cairo, but here in Aswan it has been mostly falafel (tomiya) and foul (pureed beans and spices eaten with Egyptian bread). On our way to find koshari, we see a place that looks good. We decide to stop in.

When I go to find a table, a young woman with a pleasant face catches my eye and smiles at me. I smile back and she invites us to sit with her. We take our things and join her. We are very happy to meet each other. We begin to stumble our way through a conversation. Her name is Donya. She is insistent upon teaching us Arabic and tells us how to eat everything that we have. She even feeds me some of her meal. I feel awkward being fed, but I do not turn it down as this is considered a compliment.

When we are ready to go, she demands that we pay for her meal. We suddenly understand that we have been hustled. We agree to pay for her meal, but when we try to say goodbye, we can’t get rid of her. She follows us up and down the strip asking us to buy things for her, which we do not.

Our encounter with Donya represents the many contradictions that we have experienced here as travelers who are not a part of a tour group, who attempt to go off the beaten path and make it a priority to experience the lives of people as much as we can while enjoying some of the sites of the cities we visit. While it was bittersweet, she does not represent the many well meaning people we have met here in Egypt.

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Our next big adventure is a felucca ride on the Nile. A felucca is a sail boat with mattresses and padding and a simple canopy for shade. We will sail for 3 days and 3 nights. We eat and sleep in the same single space that is body of the boat. We use the bathroom when we stop in the woods, but mostly we relieve ourselves in the river. As the only woman aboard, this is challenging for me. Our sailing depends on the wind and I don’t always want to be the reason that we have to stop, so I have to figure out a way to balance myself off the side of the boat and not expose myself. It is a practice in balance and confidence. I enlist Mat to hold up a sheet to cover me, tie a scarf around my waist and balance myself as close to the edge of the boat as I can without getting urine on board and without losing my balance and falling in the river. It is a skill. I am always trembling. But soon I am pro. We joke about me teaching a class for women about relieving yourself in the wild.

Nothing could have prepared me for the breathtaking savannahs on The Nile. Water buffalo drinking, donkeys and horses grazing, more cranes than I have ever seen in my life, so white and delicate that they look like paper. Endless hours spent gazing at the stars, reading (Maya Angelou’s All God’s Children Need Traveling Shoes), and taking the kind of naps that are so delicious you could eat them. I have never seen sunsets like these before. We make stops at the temples of Edfu and Kom Ombo and visit the largest camel market in Egypt.

Another sunset

Passing the time

The camel market

Wes takes over

The felucca ready for bed with mosquito net up  

Our captain, Eidy (pronounced EE-dee) and co-captain Ekramy (ee-CRAH-mee) are an amazing team. We are the only 3 passengers. Their skill is undeniable and their hospitality never falters. Ekramy makes the most delicious meals ever with 3 gas burners on the boat. It is camping on water, but the food is 5 star quality. The 5 of us get along easily and at the end of the trip, we are all sad to say good-bye.

Ekramy working his magic in the “kitchen”

The 5 of us before we say goodbye

Our last view of the felucca before it sails away

After we sail we take 2 trains to our next city, Luxor. We are exhausted. The heat is unbearable. Our phones are dead, so we cannot call our next host. We simply hope to make it to Luxor, charge our phones, and that we don’t have to wait too long for him to meet us. It all works out. Soon we are following our new host, a middle aged man named, Ismael, through the busy streets of another town in Egypt.

Welcome, My Friend

Today in Cairo seems particularly touched by the magic of people. I am riding in the back of an old white pick up station wagon driven by Sayed, a man in his 60s who has no teeth in the top row of his mouth. He is very happy to meet us and be our driver for the day. My body wants to sleep but my mind won’t let my eyes close to the sights around me. We are leaving the bustling city of Cairo and going to the smaller towns of Memphis, Dahshur, and Saqqara. Because getting to these locations requires complicated transportation logistics, we have allowed the “luxury” of a driver. A price is set and we make it clear that we will do no shopping for souvenirs and the like.

My eyes open and close as the landscape becomes covered with dirt roads, sandy fields, and more and more people riding donkeys. On the last highway out of Cairo, I see a Muslim woman on the back of a motorcycle with a small baby in her arms. We make eye contact and smile at each other. The day is already blessed.

The museum at Memphis is a small, sandy yard filled with the artifacts of and monuments made to Ramses II. The most memorable sight is a few men working on cleaning a sphinx…

…and this statue of Ramses II.

But it is was happens outside the museum that makes an impression on my heart. Sayed is sitting outside a nearby papyrus shop when we see him. I think it is a café because he is sitting with another man drinking tea. They invite us to sit. The man’s name is Ahmet. He is around the same age as Sayed or older.

Ahmet is a small man in a long kaftan with a regal bearing that is underscored by his salt and pepper mustache. He has kind, perceptive eyes. Soon we are chatting, sipping tea, making easy conversation. I am transfixed watching the people ride by on donkeys and the groups of school children walk by. This is the most tranquil I have felt here. The plentiful palm trees seem majestic and the delicious mint tea they serve us put me at ease.

After the mint tea, Ahmet offers to take us inside his shop. He promises not to pressure us to buy and I feel like I can believe him. Up until this point, I don’t realize that we aren’t sitting outside of a café but a papyrus paper shop. My eyes spread wide when I see that he makes paper from the papyrus that grows wild in the region. I am in awe; I have the distinct feeling that I am in the presence of something that I have been curious about for ages.

The walls of the shop are covered with paintings of ancient Egypt done on his paper. I know immediately that we have to buy one. This is unusual. We have 1) very little no money in our budget for souvenirs and, 2) no space in our backpacks for anything extra. But my gut tells me that this is different. We begin looking at paintings that speak to us and decide to purchase a medium sized one of 3 muses at Thebes. Wes purchases 2 small ones that will be great in his new apartment.

After me make our purchases, Ahmet brings us each a sweet bread that his wife made. We joke that we won’t share with Sayed. Our appreciation for each other is so apparent and we witness an openness of spirit in each other that sometimes happens when friends meet on a journey.

Then we sit outside longer and have kawa (Egyptian style coffee with cardamon, similar to Turkish coffee) that makes me feel high for some reason. We take pictures together, sign his guestbook, touch our heats many times saying Sukram (Egyptian Arabic for thank you). We have been here for around 2 hours and have many stops to make.

Ahmet giving us a papyrus paper making demo

After going into Ahmet’s shop

Nest stop: Dahshur. We drive until we see only desert and 2 spectacular pyramids in the distance. The nearer one, which we will visit first, has steep steps on the exterior, leading to the entrance. We go up. I fear vertigo and the dust and smog make me short of breath, but I am here and nothing will stop me. We greet the guard who surprisingly lets us take our camera inside. We enter a long, narrow cave with the ramp and rungs going down, down, down…It gets progressively narrow and dark until we reach a chamber with a set of stairs. We go up the steps and through another hallway that leads to a landing with a pit of huge stones. I feel once again the exhilarating thrill that I felt at the pyramids of Giza a few days ago. Once again, we have a pyramid all to ourselves. We exit and take a few more pictures all over the grounds.

Off to our next stop: Saqqara. But first, I need to use the bathroom. I’ve had to go since we got to Dahshur. Sayed pulls over to the guard station at the entrance. He says over and over, “Not hotel. Not nice. Egyptian bathroom.” I don’t like how he speaks of his own people. And besides I don’t care what kind of bathroom it is. I can’t be choosy. Now is the time. It’s a bathroom of the hole in the ground variety. I go in with a packet of Kleenex and hand sanitizer. My feet are slippery on the muddy floors and I hope I don’t slip because of pyramid vertigo, hunger, or kawa high. I don’t. Done. Back in the car. Off to our final stop before lunch.

It turns out that Saqqara closes in less than an hour when we get there. Sayed advises against spending money for such a short visit. We are disappointed, but he is right. We leave and he takes us to a beautiful garden restaurant nearby.

Things get awkward when we tell him that the place costs far more than we are willing to pay for a lunch. The pressure is on because the restaurant is empty. We are probably the only customers they have had all day. The political situation has hurt the tourist industry so badly that the pressure is on to spend almost everywhere we go. We say that we have to eat elsewhere, but they won’t accept no for an answer. We finally order a small plate to share. The food is delicious. Fresh Egyptian pita, delicious baba ganoush and hummus, boiled potatoes and carrots, a roasted eggplant medley, and a little coal oven of chicken and sausages, as well as a rice and veggie/tomato stew. We order another one. Sayed is happy and repeatedly asks if we are happy. “Yes!,” we say. “We are happy! Very happy!” We decide it is time to go home. I feel spent.

The sun is setting. I close my eyes as we maneuver our way through the Cairo traffic. My stomach is uneasy but my heart is full. I am grateful. The night is young. We will pack our bags and get ready to leave Cairo in the morning. A 13 hour train ride to Aswan awaits us.

When we get back to the hotel, Mat texts our next host to confirm that he will pick us up from the train station in Aswan.

His reply is a simple, “Welcome, my friend.”

 

Sayed in the station wagon

The Familiar and The New

We wake up early to go to the Pyramids of Giza. We immediately meet a cab driver that agrees to use his meter. 7:30 am on Friday. This is the most calm I have seen the city. Fridays and Saturdays are weekends in Egypt.

Getting into the pyramids is an exercise in patience. We are bombarded by hustlers of all ages, starting with our cabdriver, who took us to a place that was not the main entrance, but a small business peddling camel and horse rides. We state repeatedly that we want to explore the pyramids on foot, but it doesn’t matter. No matter what we say, their response is lowering the price. After we manage to leave the office and are given change for our ride, we are quickly surrounded by a crowd of children asking for pictures with us and other people offering camel and horse rides. When we finally make it to the pyramids, we have paid 2 entrance fees each.

I am writing from the outside of the largest pyramid. Mat and I just went in and are waiting for Wes to come out. It is majestic and exhilarating to be inside such an ancient structure.

Inside the pyramid are large slats of wood on an incline (like a ramp) with rungs for the hands and feet to climb. We were here early to beat the crowds so Mat and I had a pyramid all to ourselves. The tunnel resembles a cave and it is narrow. For the final stretch, I got on my knees and crawled. My breath stopped when I saw that the space had opened up to a room containing a tomb. We had reached the top.

When we were at the top I couldn’t help but thinking of how empty the room is. Shouldn’t this be filled with treasures? Some well thought out exhibit? Of course, they were once full of the valued items of pharaohs but the pyramids were pillaged for centuries before becoming what they are now— mostly empty, majestic structures that are simply beautiful because they are, and not because of anything they contain.

The people who are working at the pyramids have little in terms of material possessions. The government does so little for them that a national treasure like the pyramids is a playground for children seeking to take photos for money and horse and camel owners seeking tourists to take their rides. There are far more Egyptians than tourists, so we are targets. While I grew annoyed with the constant hustling, I understood the cause. We wander around the grounds taking pictures, turning down camel rides, and speaking to children who approach us to say hello or take pictures.

To leave the pyramids, we take our first city bus ride. I enjoy riding through the streets and wish I could use the opportunity to take in more sights, but the motion soon puts me to sleep. We get off somewhere and decide to wander around in search of lunch. The wandering ends when we come to a crowd of people around a few men making food. The crowd is chaotic, people are handing over money and speaking fast Arabic. We try to figure out what it is. Finally, Mat and Wes get in the crowd and find out that it is tamiiya (falafel, pronounced tOm-ee-ya) and foul (a delicious bean puree with spices, pronounced FOOL). The crowd is so intense and disorganized that it takes dedication for Mat to stay in there.

He places our order several times and even hands over a little extra change to ensure that it is taken care of. The latter makes no difference at all; people are simply placing orders, hoping they are heard and remembered, handing over money, and waiting for the moment that the food is finally handed over. He is in the crowd for over 20 minutes before he gets the food. Wes and I marvel at his perseverance. The food is well worth it.

We continue to wander through back streets. We pass chickens, men smoking hookah, fresh fruit stands, dilapidated cars and buildings. People stare at us everywhere and sometimes give a wave or say a simple, “Welcome.”

After a long walk and short cab ride, we finally arrive at Coptic Cairo—the Christian section of the city. Mari Girgis is an exquisite church surrounded by small chapels and a cemetery. Some chapels require that we take off our shoes. We encounter people praying and washing their faces and hands. I take many moments of quiet as I sit in the pews and reflect on the history of the city and what this church means to the small Christian population here. The previous night we went to Fatimi Cairo, a part of Islamic Cairo. Because it was at night, there were no mosques open, but I was similarly moved by the spirit of this part of the city and had many moments of reflecting on what religious conviction means to the average person.

For dinner, we meet with a local family that Mat has connected us to through couchsurfing. They are a husband, Karam, his wife, Amira, their 2 young sons, and Karam’s sister, Noha. Karam leads the way and does most of the talking. I am hoping to get to speak more with Noha and Amira, but because of language, I know it won’t be easy. But somewhere over dinner, the ice breaks. Noha and I start stumbling our way through a conversation about careers. It is through our eyes that I know we are friends. The night has just taken off.

We leave dinner and go on a boat ride on the Nile. It is a party boat and it is decorated with lights. Two young men who have a baby with them are excitedly talking to Wes. Soon the 2 guys with another 2 guys are up dancing. Their dancing reminds us of the “showtime” break dancers on the NYC subways, but it is different. At some point they pull Wes into it and he gives it his best try. Everyone laughs and Mat and I agree that we have enough material to blackmail him for life. But we are proud that he did it. The ride ends and we say goodnight to our new friends.

Each day is a new awakening in the world of Cairo. A place is inextricably connected to its people. Each time we meet new people, I have the distinct feeling of meeting a new part of Cairo.

It is only our 3^rd day and on the way home, we stop at our “favorite” ice cream place. We joke about already having “spots” in the city. We feel as if we have just had a night out with close friends and are heading home to our own apartment. But it is only a temporary home in a city of new friends. Sometimes the familiar melds into the new in the most mysterious of ways.

Egyptian Street Walking Skills

We have yet to see any traffic lights in downtown Cairo. It is the end of our first day here. Pedestrians walk into streets teeming with traffic and cars either brake or don’t brake; people on foot, like my husband and our friend, find themselves somewhere in between the cars and fortuitously make it to the other side of the street as if completing a maze.

Wes, our friend, picks it up immediately and is an instant pro. Yesterday the 3 of us traveled here from the apartment we’ve shared intermittently (between Wes’s traveling and Mat’s former 3 month stints between France and the US) for almost 3 years in Brooklyn, NY. We are the best of friends, me being the newest in the bunch. Mat and I have been married a little more than a year. This trip is our last hurrah as roommates. Wes will return to NY before us and find his own apartment. Mat and I will continue to travel across Africa for 6 months.

After an uneventful 11 hour flight to Cairo, our first mode of business at the airport after purchasing Egyptian visas and making it through customs, was to find a clinic in the airport to administer us yellow fever, and possibly meningitis, vaccinations. These shots cost upward of $100 a pop in the US, but here in Cairo we get them for less $10 or for free. Finding said clinic took some patience. After asking several airport personnel who had no idea what we were talking about, I began to doubt whether this place actually existed. Then we were told to take a bus to another terminal, which we did. More people who had no idea what we were talking about. Finally, we were pointed to a small area at the end of a hall where a friendly and efficient staff administered our yellow fever shots in less than 20 minutes along with providing pills for meningitis, instructions on taking them, and advice on getting to our next destination. We could get to our destination for 60-80 Egyptian pounds, we were told.

No cab driver would do it for less than 100. We found one driver who was a particularly good barterer. Our bartering team was led by Mat, who ended up being remarkably good at saying, “No. Too much” and calmly walking away. Each time we walked away, the driver would unfailingly return within 5 minutes to lower his original asking price of 120. We got him down to 90 and hopped in his old Toyota Camry.

Ahmet is 50-60 years old. He moves fast and has a charming intensity. He swings into heavy traffic not wearing a seat belt. Soon we begin conversing about his life and ours. When did he start work that morning, how many children he has, if he is from Cairo, what should we do in the city…He coaches us on Egyptian Arabic, helps with our pronunciation, gives us some new words. Soon I am asleep in the backseat. The heat, the jet lag, the sensory overload (there are 20 million people in Cairo), have overtaken me. My head hangs low on my chest and I am gone.

When I awake we are pulled off to the side of another busy street, in some sort of incomplete parallel parking job by Ahmet; the car’s nose is in the middle of traffic. People honk at us. I don’t know what is the matter. Ahmet gets out followed by Wes. Mat tells me this is the street our hostel is on but he doesn’t see the number. Soon Ahmet and Wes return. We have to call the hostel. We can’t find it. We get a woman on the line and are told that our hostel is closed for renovations. She isn’t taking anyone anymore. She recommends a hotel. The only problem is we’ve already paid a deposit and we’re having a hard time understanding her. Ahmet is yelling at her (or speaking emphatically?); the phone has passed between all 4 of us; cars are honking at us, and pedestrians, blended as they are in traffic, give us strange looks. Ahmet says repeatedly that she is a bad woman. Finally Ahmet takes us to another hotel. According to him, it is one of the best.

The 4 of us enter a large old building that is down an alley way and go up an old fashioned elevator. As we step off the elevator, I see, in front of us at the end of the hall, a kind faced man sitting at a wooden desk with a wall of golden tagged keys behind him. The place, Pension Roma hotel, is clean and tastefully decorated. Ahmet, who has greeted everyone at the hotel familiarly, tells our story. We get Dina (the other hostel owner) on the phone. There is more shouting (or emphatic speaking?). Ahmet tells us over and over again that Dina is a bad woman. He thinks we have been scammed. The hotel worker says as a refrain, “Everybody is good until you squeeze them or push them a little.” He has a smile on his face and a jovial, but professional nature.

The good news is that there are rooms available to us here at the Pension Roma. But before he will give us the rooms, the concierge would like Dina to come to the hotel to settle things with us. He wants to make it clear that he is not affiliated with Dina and that we know that paying her is not the same as paying him. He asks that we put it online so that other tourists will know. Dina has done this before, apparently. We are shown our rooms and Dina comes within an hour. Things are settled.

After settling in a bit (another short nap for me), we hit the town. It is mesmerizing to take in the people, the sounds, the smells. Everywhere, there are beautiful women in hijab, men walking arm in arm (I tell Wes and Mat that I want them to walk like that. Highly unlikely.), and unending crowds of people. It feels late at night to us but it isn’t even 7pm. We eat street foods (shawarma from one place and a popular macaroni dish from another) and have ice cream. Gangs of skinny stray cats tear through trash scavenging for food. At the shawarma place a cat hangs around under our table to see what she can get. Several people offer us little packages of kleenex to buy. Soon the guys are crashing because of the jet lag. And though I still have energy, there are no other women alone on the street, so I must return to the hotel with them.

We walk the streets trying to find our way back and I practice my Egyptian street crossing skills.