“And here we have the longest river in the world. If you don’t believe me, it’s because you’re in deNile.”

The next day, before heading into the city we walked down to the supermarket to pick up a few things, and to get our friend the Egyptian sim card she needed for her phone. Along the way we saw. . .(this is for my sister). . .Coffeebean! Well! I am not a particular fan of the franchise, but I made us stop in and buy me a drink in honor of “if my sister were here”.

Having gathered the necessary Nutella, bread, fruit, etc. from the supermarket and having found the simcard, we wrote down her new phone number, and left her to work on her paper and head into the city, seeking a train or bus to Luxor. However, after spending what felt like an eternity and a half at the train station we found that all of the trains were full for the next three days. The same story went with the busses. Well, that shot our plans for the next twenty-four hours or so. But the good side was that it had eaten up Tuesday, at least, just negotiating our way around the city. By the time we gave in to defeat, all we had left to do for the day was find dinner. We walked around the city for a bit, and then thought we better call our friend to let her know we’d be back for the night instead of sitting on a southbound train. I’d learned before the benefits afforded by well-mannered employees at fancy hotels, not only to their patrons, but to any rabble off the street :-), so we walked over to one of the resort-types lining the Nile (yes! The Nile!), and were able to use one of their phones for a small fee to call our friend.

She was not ready to come out for the night, so we were on our own. The kind, and quite funny concierge (Oh! I didn’t tip him! Well darn. Maybe next time I’m in Cairo. :-P), anyway, he helped us find a restaurant in the area, and we thought we’d give it a shot—at least check the prices.

It looked quite fancy and we were dubious, having been recommended there from such a high-end hotel, but it turned out to be surprisingly affordable (although beware, they get you with the tax and automatically included tip ;-)). We had a good dinner in a beautiful environment, and I was excited to see on the inside cover of the menu a mention of vegetarianism. :-)

Since we would not be going to Luxor, we thought we might at least have a better walking tour of Cairo. So we wandered over to the Nile. The bridge was flanked by two lions, standing guard over the ancient river that has flown through the ages, witness to countless lives surviving along its banks, once flooding twice a year, but eventually tamed into a reservoir and constant flow through this modern city.

Now in the city the borders are lined with hotels and restaurants, shining colored lights into its depths.

The next day we decided to call Jason’s friend, who had given us his number—he is a professional tour guide, and as far as we could discern had always been very straightforward with us, and had not known about the inconsistencies we’d been told. He picked us up and we had a great day with him. First stop, Giza pyramids.

We rode camels out for the panoramic view. Note to self—don’t pay up front; always make sure you receive what they claim to be the product before the money changes hands. Otherwise you have no leverage. If I had it to do over again, first of all I would stand around for a bit and observe the camels and their owners, to choose to support the business of the man who seemed to treat his camels with the most care and respect; the man whose camel’s responded to him most favorably and with least complaint, etc. To my animal-rights friends: if you ever come, I’d suggest not getting your hopes up about riding a camel. I don’t think I will again. While observing the animal/owner interactions, I would ease-drop on the negotiations of other tourists, and watch where their paths led, how much they paid, how the businessmen treated them, etc. (The camel-choosing place is high enough that you can see where the camels go, but if you’re told you will be taken to that hilltop and you are only taken to this one, and you’ve already paid, what can you do, other than raise your own blood pressure inciting future medical bills on top of the money you’ve just been scammed out of?) Then I would choose from the men that seemed to treat their camels best, with the best price and nicest headgear they lent to their customers. If I had it to do over again. But I don’t feel the need to do it a second time. Anyway, we did have fun with our guides—we were handed off to two children, rather than the businessman himself going out with us as I saw the others do with their tours. We chatted with out little guides and sang with them, call and answer songs in Arabic which they led and laughed with joy as we mimicked the words and tune. They climbed up on the camels with us and we got to trot a bit, and after my guy jumped back down he gave me the reigns for a bit (believe me, I considered riding off over to where the man had claimed we’d go! But I was concerned for the boys’ safety if I changed the plan. You never know). Despite the aggravation of the commercial aspect, we did have fun with the camels, guides, and picture taking.

Since we did not take the camels over to the sphinx, our all-day guide said he would take us there by car after we explored the pyramids up close. By the way, we had a great time with him, and I kept his card if anyone is interested. He asked us to pass his contact information along to friends and family in our home countries, but to please not mention his name in Israel. (He repeatedly explained, “Yes, Egypt and Israel have peace…on paper,” but asked us not to call from our Israeli phones, but wait until we returned to France and America. He said if we called from an Israeli phone, before hanging up he would hear a knock at the door and be greeted by the police. I have no idea if this is true, but it was uncomfortably interesting to hear his perspective, at least.) So of course I won’t be posting his information here. He drove us over to the pyramids and inundated us with all kinds of statistics he learned while studying their history for two years, as we walked around them and snapped photos facing both toward the city (perhaps half a mile away) and toward the desert (as my uncle had advised me to view them).

Off to one side there was a cemetery for the “nobodies” of the time. I wanted to go see that, because I thought they might be representative of a certain people group of “nobodies”, but he was a bit resistant. He offered to take us, instead, to a cemetery of famous people. Later, when I asked a second time to see the common graves, he said it is locked up and we could not go there. I thought the irony was interesting that in this instance it is the commoners held as set-apart and the kings’ graves open to the masses. When our guide told us about the number of bricks and the number of people it took to build the pyramids, he pointedly called them workers, people, builders, and when I asked “slaves?”, thinking of Caesarea and how part of the history that shocked me was that it was built not by slaves, he said that while that term is historically accurate, we don’t like to use that word because it is not a nice word. That struck me as interesting.

We got to go down into one of the pyramids. Down…down…down, to see where the Pharaoh and his wife would have lain.

He said it never rises above a certain temperature down there because it was underground, but it still felt much warmer regardless of being out of the sun because of the still air, and I was happy to climb back up the ladder to the nice breeze.

He pointed out to us some modern carvings beside some ancient ones, and it somehow did not seem as out of place as you might expect.

The whole time we were there (as well as often in Israel), I was entertained to see ancient things beside modern ones. Chain-link fences and cars beside pyramids, temples beside asphalt paved roads, and while camels are not ancient, they remind me of times from stories set long ago in a far away land, and it never ceased to amuse me to see a camel or donkey meandering down the road beside a lane of “horseless carriages”.

Thankfully our tickets into the pyramid attraction (be sure to bring your student ID card--it cuts many entry fees in half!) also afforded us entry into the perfume museum and papyrus museum (well, “museum” is the term they used; in my American English I might have called them “shops”). But I enjoyed them nevertheless. We heard presentations about how flower extracts and papyrus paper are made, and enjoyed the pretty products.

The day was coming to a close by the time we left the papyrus shop, and we asked our guide if we could pay him an extra half-hour to drive us not to the closest metro stop, but back to the flat. On the drive back, the conflict in the middle east came up in conversation again, and after the long day, the repeated warring perspectives I had heard in Cairo practically since arriving, and had heard before in Israel three years ago and on this trip built up in my heart and mind to overflowing. I tried not to sniffle and to wipe the tears rarely and subtly, but our guide saw me in the rearview mirror (and of course with my fair skin, the puffy red nose and eyes are not easy to hide), and was shocked at my reaction. He asked what was wrong, but when I opened my mouth to try to explain—well, you know how it is. I couldn’t talk, but had to just hide my face in my hands and leave him to his own contemplation. As soon as I could catch my breath and speak evenly I did my best to change the topic to less complicated and distressing discussion—like the direction of the Nile’s flow and where its source is, and was able to give him a reassuring smile in the mirror not too long after.

By the time we got back to the flat and realized we hadn’t eaten practically all day, it felt too late to venture back into downtown…but we knew where we could find some food! Migdu’s just down the street. :-D A salad, some fries, and a soda and we were ready to fall into bed.

~Time elapse~

Well. I’ve just looked through my pictures, checked the history on my facebook page, looked in my “old” and “sent” email boxes and cannot find anything to remind me of what we did Thursday. Shrug. Go figure.

That may have been the day we went to the souq (the outdoor market). Was that the end of Ramadan? Whichever day that was, it was a cool experience! My friend and I had been wandering around the souq for quite a while, and it was so over-stimulating. The crowds, the colors, the sites and sounds, the watching your backpack so you don’t get pick-pocketed, avoiding eye-contact so vendors wouldn’t chase you down the street trying to “give you a good price” for merchandise you had no intention of buying for any price. We began saying, “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t speak English” and speaking French, and signing and pretending we were deaf. We ended up retracing our steps several times getting a little lost in the crowded narrow streets lined with all kinds of imaginable items, but none of what I had been hoping for—I kept thinking there must be a “tourist” section with, you know, toy camels and handcarved whatnots and such (like in that city near Quito). If that section exists, we never found it. But anyway, as the sun got lower in the sky, we had begun a search for a pair of shorts for my friend.

Then the sun set. A few people set off firework-type things (not the kind that make pretty balloon colors in the sky, but just the "pop, pop" kind), and then we saw people in every store gathering around picnics of food. They smiled as we passed by, but kept eating and no longer were interested in our business.

Then I noticed it.

No sound of traffic.

No horns.

No PA system chanting the Qur'an through the skies.

No calling out from vendor to vendor or to either of us.

I whispered, “It’s so qu-i-et” and my friend heard me.

I could feel the inside of my ears relax and expand. I looked around. It was so peaceful. And still. The only people we saw were the half dozen gathered in each doorway breaking the fast together. And we walked through the streets as the only two still moving. And whispered back and forth.

Just because we could.

I don’t know how long the stillness lasted, and I didn’t notice as the volume rose, but at some point I noticed I could no longer hear my own thoughts as well as I could for those few minutes. My friend went from table to table looking for shorts and pretty soon one of the salesmen kind of adopted us and walked us all over the place in search of the right pair. “It’s very close; two minutes” usually translated into a ten or twelve minute walk, but although we were tired, we didn’t really have anywhere we needed to be.

Since arriving in Cairo, I had talked about my curiosity of what it would be like to wear a burqa, but I didn’t know if it would be okay for me to try one. As we walked around the souq I saw them for sale. I assumed I couldn’t afford one, especially if I got the tourist price. And I was shy to pick one out, try it on, etc. But our new souq guide was very friendly. I asked if there was a girl who would help me buy clothes, but apparently no. But he saw no problem in helping me himself and he helped me get a burqa—the dress, hijab, and niqab, so you could only see my eyes—or if I lowered the netting in the niqab, you could not even see their color. (I did not bother with the gloves, but did get some cute sandals instead of my tennis shoes.) It was surprisingly affordable, and I was very happy to have the experience. And it certainly was one. I was not perceptively warmer with the extra layer of clothes, and for the most part it did not feel much different, physically. (Only when I walked down a flight of stairs I would notice that my lower peripheral vision was lacking and I had to dip my chin more to see the steps). But it was such a different Cairo from inside my secret chamber. Suddenly I was not such an anomaly. People saw me, and looked from me to other passersby as if I was just another person—rather than a blonde-haired, blue-eyed wonder. Of course when our Egyptian guide left us and I was no longer walking with him with our French friend behind us, and I was walking and standing with the foreigner, then they looked—but at him, not at me. :-) (I know he snapped a few pictures of me, but they're on his camera, not mine. I'll post them when I get them from him.)

When we sat down in the cab to take us back to the metro, I somehow pulled on the back of the scarf and it started coming unraveled. The more I tried to secure it the worse it got, to the great amusement of my friend. Here I was now, walking down the street with my blonde hair peeking out as I frantically tried to rewrap my scarf and keep the niqab on my face. He snapped pictures and was thoroughly entertained, despite my (good-natured) glares. Although, perhaps he couldn’t see them, ha! When the metro finally came (it was probably 90 seconds, but felt like an eternity as I huddled in a corner, trying to fix my wardrobe), I separated from him and got onboard the women’s-only car, sure someone would take pity on me. Sure enough, three women gathered around me, all of us doing our best to balance as the car rocked and trying to rewrap my scarf—the pins had fallen out along the way somewhere, so they did the best they could for me, and smiled sympathetically at the result they saw before them. I rejoined my friend at the stop where we had to change lines and I think he pretty much laughed at me the rest of the ride back to El Maadi. But while the men in the souq had not adorned me as well as women might have, I had briefly felt what it might be like, and I liked it. Of course it was my own choice, and could choose to wear it or not whenever I wanted, but under such circumstances, I found it quite freeing.

We stayed up talking long into the night and slept-in so long on Friday that I got out of bed only a few hours before the 2pm service I had found online would begin. I left a note and head over to the congregation. The website had said it is a congregation mostly of expatriates, and they had two services each Friday. I opted for the “African style” one, and it was such a sweet time. Everyone welcomed me as their sister, and while I enjoy singing scriptural songs in Hebrew at my congregation in Haifa, it was heartwarming to sing again in English songs we sing in the states, so I could close my eyes and let my mouth sing words and tunes it knows so well with no thought spared for the song, but all focused upward. I’m not sure my feet were touching the pavement when I left. But somehow I maneuvered to the grocery store and back to the flat.

We finally convinced our Japanese friend to come out with us again and the three of us had an appetizer on a boat-restaurant on the Nile and then dinner at the fast food side of Felfela. I should have taken pictures of our food, I’m sorry. We’d made friends along the way and were chatting with them, and then with each other and I forgot. Ah well. I had scrumptious vine leaves (filled with rice and spices) and a “mashed potato sandwich”—yes, I ordered it so I could see what it was. It was a pita pocket filled with mashed potatoes! (If you know my relationship with starches, you know I was thrilled at my order's result.) Delicious!

Saturday we visited the Cairo Museum. Beautiful artifacts, countless hieroglyphics (which my friend and I began interpreting for one another), and cool educational plaques. It struck us, though, how different this museum was from any we’d seen in Europe or America. The artifacts were displayed very well and carefully, but the building itself looked nothing like we’d expect. In our home countries museums are quite sterile. White and clean and windows shining like diamonds. Not so here. I don’t know if it reflects the pollution and dust in Cairo, the economic situation of the country, or simply different cultural values, but it was a very funny incongruity to my eye.

We decided with our extra day (we had planned to leave Thursday morning until I found out online that no buses would be running in Israel as the holiday ran straight from Rosh Hashanah straight into the Sabbath) to go visit Alexandria, about two and a half hours north of Cairo, on the Mediterranean. So we did some searching online before bed and planned to go buy our tickets to Taba (the border shared with Israel) for the overnight bus leaving the next night, and get train tickets to Alexandria for the day.