Petra

Last week I joined three other Fulbright scholars for a quick trip over the border to see the famed Petra in the kingdom of Jordan. We had such an amazing time, but I must say I think it was only partially the trip, and the greatest asset was the company. From the moment we met up in Jerusalem until we parted ways at Eilat and Tel Aviv, I don’t think we stopped chatting except to eat, sleep, and giggle. We have met briefly a handful of times, but for the most part only have had time at Fulbright functions, limiting time and topics of conversation. Spending two days and nights together was pure joy.

One of the other fellows living in Haifa and I took a bus to Jerusalem on Sunday and we had a slumber party with another living there, so that we could get an earlier start the next day down to Eilat. We met our fourth traveler Monday morning at the central bus station. Having planned to meet at 9 or 9:15, our 9:50ish arrival was a bit stressful on our very-organized-always-early friend, but as she was there on time and we live in the age of cell phones, she was able to purchase our tickets while we sat in traffic on the bus and eyeballed how far we were and discussed if we should get off and walk, or wait it out…she was gracious and happy when we finally got there, and we passed through security and found our gate, even having a few minutes to spare. ;-)

The bus stations have security, yes. But so do the grocery stores, malls, and a few coffee shops here and there. I was surprised when at orientation our security speaker told us that they will definitely profile, and make no apologies. I have noticed I get stopped much less often than men or brunettes before and after me in line, and that their glance through my bag is quite quick. But at bigger locations, and if I have a weird bag or anything, of course it takes longer. As I had a whole backpack and sleeping bag and we were entering the central bus station in Jerusalem (not quite as big as Union Station in DC, but same idea with stores, restaurants, etc.), it could have conceivably pushed our time back to missing the bus. Phew!

Our tickets had seat numbers on them, but everyone sat wherever they wanted, so the four of us sat together near the back. Of course it had to be the final two passengers to board who cared where they sat. Thankfully it didn’t affect us, and after a few minutes of shuffling around, they accepted two seats that, while perhaps not their ticketed seats, were together and apparently acceptable.

Settled in, our conversation picked up and we began discussing how each of us planned to present our projects at the upcoming meeting the following week. But when we left Jerusalem and crossed over the green line into the West Bank, our conversation naturally turned to topics of that nature. It is a common topic of discussion here – human rights, racism, safety, perspectives…and we four Americans discussed how different our paradigm is from the people here with whom we’ve talked about, well, everything in this part of the world.

The rather deep discussion was periodically interrupted when one of us would see a camel, or a place where our research project had taken place, or a particularly beautiful view, and we would all turn to admire, consider, and talk about the new conversation topic – such as where one can buy a baby camel, and where one might keep such a pet in the states.

The Dead Sea (Oops, I just made a typo: “Deaf Sea”…well, that certainly brought to mind a whole different picture, lol) is stunning, and we did fall silent a few times as we passed it. The bright blue surrounded by myriad earth tones can be breath taking. And the Negev Desert beyond it has a charm all its own, as well.

Parts of it remind me of Utah, California, and Arizona, while others are completely unique, but all proved impossible to capture through a camera lens…

The five hour ride flew by and we arrived in Eilat giddy but focused. After a quick trip to the atm, we debated about how much to exchange into Jordan Dinars and which of the dozen exchange places in sight that we should use. We compared exchange rates at half a dozen and made our selection, got our Dinars, and hopped in a cab for the five minute ride to the border.

Jordan, here we come!

Oh, but first we need to pay our exit fee.

Oh, and go through passport control.

Oh yes, and customs.

Okay, here we come, Jordan!

Oh, first through the Jordanian security…and their own passport control.

And have our picture taken? Hmmm

And…

into Jordan! Beautiful.

A driver from our hostel met us with a van to take us the couple hours to Wadi Mousa, just outside Petra. We could not get over the amazing rock formations (I know, I know, I’ve turned into a rock-lover. Oh dear.), and then the sun began to set.

I think we did fall silent again at this point. Of course I know that cameras cannot capture this kind of thing, but I could not resist. And then I put the camera down and just had to stare. How is it that sunrises, sunsets, and the like never get old? Every. single. day. I. live. and yet I am still in awe at every one. But this one did certainly stand out from the rest, though of course through a camera lens you cannot capture the depth of the hills and valleys stretching as far as the eye can see, fading gradually to the horizon. And you cannot see the oranges blending first into the light blue of the evening sky and then into the deep velvet blue of the coming night, sprinkled with stars.

Our hostel’s owner (well, one of them, as it is a family run business) was extremely welcoming, professional, and helpful. We settled in briefly and then walked down the way for dinner. I tried valiantly, and unsuccessfully, to employ my little Arabic, and kept politely saying “Toda” to our restaurant staff. Ah well, they did not seem phased by it, and I know many people from Israel that have visited Petra. I am sure they do not mind, though for all the socio-linguistic implications that language choice carries, I was determined to make the switch in my mind and mouth.

After dinner we bundled up and joined a night tour into Petra. Candles in paper bags lined the path down from the city, through the rock valleys created by earthquakes throughout the ages, and to the Treasury (featured in Indiana Jones, The Last Crusade). I broke away from my friends at one point to walk with a lady who seemed a little unsure of her footing in the dark over the sometimes-uneven path, and she and I had a nice little chat while we made our way down the magical trail.

The Treasury was lit by hundreds of candles and we sat in the crisp night air, enjoying sweet mint-rosemary tea, and listening to Bedouin chants and eerie, beautiful musical instruments. The first was a string instrument, which we were told was the forefather of all stringed instruments. This was followed by a song on a wind instrument of sorts, and as it played a gusty breeze blew in, giving the impression that the instrument summoned it. The breeze moved the paper bags over the flames and one by one, caught fire and harmlessly burnt out. It was peacefully spectacular.

We were invited afterwards to stay for a bit, take pictures, dance among the candles, etc. Which we happily did, and eventually head back up the trail to Wadi Mousa.

Somehow we split into two pairs walking back, and my walking partner and I somehow fell into speaking in a wonderfully entertaining mixture of Hebrew and Spanish. I wish we had it taped so I could analyze when we code switched! Her Spanish is quite strong, and her Hebrew is stronger than mine. But somehow as I listened, I found most of the time I did not even have to think, but simply understood her words. And I could not even pick out which were Spanish and which were Hebrew! Then, I responded. And I found that as I was not fighting it, Hebrew and Spanish flowed together seemingly seamlessly, even conjugating Spanish verbs using Hebrew affixes at times. I formulated a sentence to her asking if she was consciously choosing which language to use when, or if the same thing was happening in her head as I was experiencing. She answered in the affirmative and I marveled at the human mind.

We caught a cab for 2 dinar back up to the hostel and snuggled in for the night, ready to head out Tuesday to see Petra in the daylight before coming back to Israel. We had originally planned to come on Sunday night, and thankfully discovered that the night tour is only three times a week, and Sunday is not one of the nights. I am so glad we got to experience it. Back at the hostel we met another of the owning family members and had a lovely chat while we drank our “welcome tea”. Somehow the conversation turned to jokes, and he shared one with us that left us all searching in vain for an appropriate response. While it was meant as a joke, having an American blunder as the punch-line, we could not laugh. It was not offensive. But it was so telling of how people, at least the creator and current teller of this joke view the actions of the government (and the individuals?) of our country in a depressing light that we could not quite respond for a few seconds. And then someone found their voice, and somehow the subject was changed to less heavy topics – probably our plans for the morning. Later a pair of travelers from Australia joined us and we all talked about our various travels before we head to our room for a good (at least on my part) night’s sleep.

One of our friends had brought toothpaste from her recent trip to France, and as it was lavender flavored, we all used it out of curiosity, and now I find myself a little disappointed with my own prosaic mint paste, but it’ll do. We did our best to cut off our chatting at a decent hour and were up and down to breakfast not too long after our alarms insisted.

Petra opens at 6am. We entered about an hour later; I recommend it to any visiting! Petra in the early morning. Lovely. It is an expensive entry fee, equivalent to about $75, which is nearing the price for a day ticket to Disneyland, but it is, afterall, completely unique.

I was astonished at how big Petra is. I knew really nothing about it, and the only picture I had in my mind regarding it came from the movie, and that is just one building of an entire ancient city. It is a large, diverse collection of caves, temples, and an amphitheater, that took us a couple hours to peruse. The colors alone held my eyes and mind captivated.

Sprinkled throughout the ruins, vendors with an assortment of souvenirs added a nice, though ironic feeling, variation on the caves and rocks, and a touch of the contemporary local. Each man we spoke to, upon hearing our nationality, claimed a brother in Chicago. What a coincidence!

We heard of a hike you can make that creates a circle, rather than an out-and-back trek, but as it climbs to the top of the ridge and back over with a view of all of Petra, making it definitely a hike, rather than a gentle walk. To any who have the time, I’d greatly recommend it. It sounded like a wonderful trail from the other tourists we talked with, but in interest of time we opted for the same path back.

On our walk into Petra we’d seen a number of other visitors, and I hadn’t thought much of numbers. It was a delightful morning outing. On our way back, we were suddenly washed over by hundreds of tourists on tour groups and we breathed a sigh of relief that we were leaving as they were coming! It would have been a very different experience with all those bodies clogging the ways. Yay for early birds (though, being vegetarian, the worms are safe save from a click or two of my camera, perhaps). We left Petra for lunch, as food options there also go the way of Disneyland, and we classify ourselves Poor College Students.

Every food we encountered in our brief stay in Jordan was delicious. Being only slightly different from foods we eat in Israel, it was not much of an adventure, except that some had unfamiliar names, but it was still fun to peruse the menus, and nice to be far from going hungry.

After a brief stop by a souvenir shop to use up any dinars we hadn’t used in the Petra shops, it was back to collect our bags, say a farewell to the Cleopetra Hostel that even in the 18 hours or so we’d stayed, had felt homey (I highly recommend it to any heading to Petra!), and hop in the car to make the journey back to the border at Aqaba.

Back through the obstacle course that is the border – exit fees, customs, duty-free shop, passport control…and we were back to HaEretz and greeted every guard with a cheerful, “Shalom! Shalom, toda!”

A slightly overpriced taxi ride back to Eilat, we bought our bus tickets, bought some dinner for the road, and said our see-you-next-weeks to our friend heading back to Jerusalem. Then the other three of us loaded onto our bus to Tel Aviv. This time people were sitting according to their tickets and somehow my seat was apart from the other two, but I assured them I would be sleeping most of the time, anyway, which I sincerely anticipated. But then I turned my iPod on, to Laurie R. King’s “O, Jerusalem” a Mary Russell mystery novel, and while I’ve listened to it twice before, it and perhaps the excitement of the previous two days, kept me wide awake and looking out at the desert-by-night until only a few kilometers before we reached our destination.

The other Hafia-ian and I found a Sherut (a shuttle/taxi thing) to Haifa and her friend picked us up at the stop, depositing me at my apartment, tired but happy, and thoroughly content with our little adventure.

Alexandria and back to Haifa

The trains to Alexandria were also full like the ones to Luxor (I wonder what would have happened if we just boarded and figured it out along the way—the guidebook had mentioned something about that strategy), so by the time we made it over to the bus station, the next departure was not until mid-afternoon. We got our tickets and then head to the adjacent window to buy our tickets to Taba that evening. We first said we’d like to leave on the 11pm bus, but then considering we were leaving for Alexandria so late, we changed our mind, saying instead we wanted to leave the next morning. The ticket-counter man had already printed the tickets and said we would have to pay a fee to change our tickets from tonight to tomorrow. My friend accepted it, paid the fee and bought the ticket. However, the dozens of unexpected and, in my view, silly fees we’d paid throughout the week had built up in my frustration monitor, and I refused to either purchase the night ticket, nor pay the change fee. I decided to risk buying the ticket the next morning. (It worked out, and the same employee greeted me the next morning with both of us laughing—he confirmed I wanted the 9:30am bus three or four times and received my money before printing the ticket and I was not charged the change fee. Stubborn blonde.)

We wandered around the very large station—it is called the Gateway to Cairo and has stores, an arcade, a cinema, and even a restaurant that reminded me of The Rainforest Café. We got a coffee and while I watched the Egyptian version of MTV blaring on the public television set in the sitting area, my friend made friends with the customers at the next table. When the time came, we boarded our bus and watched Cairo pass by outside our windows. Just like how my awe of the DC monuments has not faded after two years of close acquaintance, seeing the pyramids from every angle and side did not diminish their attraction, and indeed I found them more interesting when I’d see them in the distance—a surprise appearance, than when we went there purposefully and walked right up to their sides.

The entrance to Alexandria was declared by a very Greek-looking gate spanning across the highway (I missed the shot where you can see the Greek letters, but here you can at least see its columns and a bit of the frieze).

My friend wanted to see the library, and I wanted to try a snack I’d read about in the guidebook. We had about four hours. So, we took a taxi to the library. Unfortunately it was closed, but in its courtyard a great concert was underway. We watched and danced and clapped along for a bit before heading over to the sea.

There was an advertisement of an exhibit I would have liked to see. Of course I hear about the establishment of the State of Israel regularly from one point of view, and this exhibit was from “the other side’s” viewpoint. One man in the metro had told us how he used to live in Palestine in the forties, and when he left, he had been forced to move from country to country in the middle east, and was still unsure where he would eventually be welcomed to stay longer than a few years (visas and whatnot).

From the concert we could see the sea, so we head that way—it is along the beach where the guidebook had said we would find the popular “smartie-sized yellow bean” snack. We crossed one street running perpendicular to the coast, and looked dubiously at the fast moving, very wide road that ran parallel, separating us from the boardwalk. I even looked up and down the road and did not see any locals I could use as a crossing-the-street guide. As we discussed the possibility of making it across alive, my friend spotted the way. There are tunnels that run from one side to the other every block or so along the sidewalk!

We began our walk eastward in search of the snack carts, and soon saw a woman and her daughter sitting on the low wall eating some of them out of a bag. My excitement was quite visible. And they were so nice! They offered us a taste, and after he and I each took one bean to satisfy our curiosity, they insisted on pouring whole handfuls into our cupped hands before sending us on our way. I must admit it is not a snack I would choose, given a choice, but my stomach had been empty most of the day, and the protein was welcomed by my cells. And as with everything, it was more about the experience than anything else. :-)

We crossed back under the street for some more substantial food and watched our final sunset in Egypt as we waited for our pizza (I always like to taste pizza, ice cream, and sprite in each country as well as buy a copy of Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, and a key chain from each—I couldn’t find Cinderella anywhere in Cairo or Alexandria. :-/ )

Down by the beach we came among the crowds, sidewalks completely covered in families, couples, and groups of young friends. As the celebrities that we were, being such an anomaly, we posed with the locals who wanted pictures with us, and made more friends.

We walked over to the synagogue, which was pretty heavily guarded (They wouldn’t let me take a picture), and eventually took a taxi back to the bus station. I was struck by the amount of people, and especially children, meandering around the beach walk and remembered people mentioning that Alexandria is a popular vacation spot for Egyptians, and wondered what it would look like after school starts up again.

Oh, and we were also surprised to see a street like we'd seen in Cairo lined with stores selling nothing but shoes! So fun! :)

On the bus ride back to Cairo the bus driver fought long and hard with the VHS he was trying to play at a loud volume for the people who were trying to sleep behind him. My friend and I lamented the hindrance to our sleep and he finally asked the driver to turn the volume down. Eventually the static cleared and the movie began playing fairly smoothly. I watched with little interest as a man and woman speaking Arabic sailed out on a calm ocean or something with two children. It seemed a nice enough movie until two other boats came out of the horizon and forcibly boarded their boat and kidnapped the children. As the woman turned to the man in panic, he injected her with something and she lost consciousness. I thought, “Oh great, not only are we playing a movie late at night when most people are trying to sleep, but we’re playing a horror movie?!” But my interest was about to be piqued. The next scene found the woman regaining consciousness, now in a fancy apartment in a high-rise building. She wandered through the rooms calling for her children as the music told me that the bad guy was soon to appear. I braced myself in my chair and silently thought things like, “Don’t open the basement door!” as the music began its crescendo. It built and built as the woman stepped out onto the balcony, still trying to get her bearings. Then her face changed as she saw the terror of the enemy and the music reached its climax of “Here’s the bad guy!!!!” as the camera cut from her face to…the Israeli flag. She had been kidnapped to Eilat.

I think my chin almost hit the floor in front of my feet. I don’t know why I was so surprised. I knew who Egyptians consider the enemy. It should have been completely predictable. But I guess I’m so used to the movie bad guys being individuals, even if those individuals represent a racist agenda on the writer’s part.

Anyway, apparently the apartment belonged to the man from the boat. He and she got in a shouting match and then he said he had to go. He put on his kipa (yamaka), and then turned back to yell at her some more, grab her by the throat and clearly make a very frightening threat (somehow it seemed to me it was about her kids). In another scene a Jewish woman was being kind to the imprisoned woman, but is still clearly in cahoots with the bad guys, and it showed her kissing the mezuzah as she passes through a doorway. In a third scene the man is again threatening the woman, or somehow psychologically cornering her, and as he shouts at her, he stands before a menorah in his house. After he makes his final threat, he walks out of the camera’s shot, leaving the now in-focus menorah on the screen an extra second.

There were many more instances that showed how terribly frightening it was for her and her children to be stranded in Israel, when they were walking down the street, etc. And it just reemphasized to me the power of media. It also reminded me of my own thought patterns about a month ago. I was sitting outside the dorms chatting with several Israelis. Some were Jewish, others Arab, and a couple were Russian (Haifa is very diverse, and for the most part everyone gets along well). Everyone was very welcoming, and one was particularly helpful with my very-lacking Hebrew. But even though he was being very friendly, I felt a little uncomfortable with him. I couldn’t figure out why for the longest time, even with my analytic mind reviewing everything he had said, his body-language, everything I could think of, and couldn’t put a finger on it. I decided to ignore the feeling and continue to befriend him. About an hour later it struck me why I felt a little unnerved by him. His face and accent were reminiscent of a bad guy in an action movie I had grown up watching! He is Russian, and by association with the antagonist in the movie I’d seen so many times as a child, my don’t-trust-this-guy radar was going bazurk. Well, once I finally figured it out and laughed embarrassingly to myself, I was able to start the cleaning out of my mind process.

But it did require a process—and a conscious well-intentioned one at that, fostered by so many other parts of media, my parents’ very un-racist raising of me, and my experiences with many different kinds of people throughout my life.

We made it back to Cairo and since it was so late, the metro was closed, so we took a taxi back to the flat for a few hours of sleep, packing, and up a bit early to make the trek back to the bus station. I got my ticket, met up with my friend (who slept later since he already had his ticket ;-)), and we got aboard for the eight hour ride to the boarder.

I watched the streets of Cairo a last time, and noted to myself that the next time I have a large bundle to carry, I certainly should try setting it atop my head, allowing the weight to balance on my spine down through my feet, rather than off to one side or the other of my body.

A few times when I woke up I noticed rock formations out the window that I thought my dad would appreciate. I snapped a few shots, but they don’t do them justice, as usual. They reminded me of Utah and Arizona.

My friend had looked for Coke a few times while we’d been traveling, and had only found Pepsi products. As we left Cairo, I finally saw an advertisement for Coke-a-Cola, and halfway to the boarder he found a bottle of the sweet stuff. :-)

As we approached the boarder crossing, we began making quiet jokes about the joy of returning to Israel. We made it through the Egypt passport control quickly and were practically skipping to be back in a familiar land…and then had to wait in line two hours, as we had arrived alongside two busloads of tourists! Through the window I saw the Israeli and Egyptian flag flying alongside each other, and wished that someday the people of both nations will be able to walk and work alongside each other just as peacefully as the flags fly.

While we waited we made friends with a man from Paris who works for the French embassy in Jerusalem. He and his roommate gave us a ride to Eilat (yay for not having to find a taxi!), and I gave my number to his roommate who has family in Haifa. She says she comes up here regularly and is always looking for friends to go salsa dancing with her. I was thrilled and look forward to the next time she heads up here—my dancing shoes I brought are looking a bit forlorn.

We had missed the last bus to Haifa for the day, so took one to Tel Aviv, to catch a train the rest of the way. The train station near the bus station was closed by the time we got there. So, back to the bus station to look for a sheirut (shared taxi service). We were told there were none either to Haifa, nor to the other train station, so took a taxi—thankfully my friend had some Shekels! Got to the train and rode it up to Haifa. Then we waited for the bus…and waited…and turned cartwheels in the empty 2am street…and waited. A taxi driver pulled up and informed us that night buses had stopped running since the children had returned to school for the fall. Oh. So, we took a taxi back to school, went our separate ways at the elevator, and I flopped into my bed for the remainder of the night, and well into the next day.

Monday all I accomplished was unpacking, laundry, a bit of internet work (checking emails, voicemails, etc.), and dinner. But thankfully I had received and been able to respond to one important email, arranging my first official meeting at the lab, to get my research officially underway. So, Tuesday morning I got up at a decent hour, had breakfast, and finished up prepping my data the way I’d hoped to finish before first going to the lab.

The meeting with two of my to-be fellow researchers was great. I shared my data with them and we discussed my project along with several others. It’s been a while since I’ve spoken linguistics with linguists, and it was a welcome re-awakening for the vocabulary and concepts, which I am still developing after only two years in the field. It certainly excited and motivated me toward my project (and the others I may get to join in while I am here).

The rest of the week somehow filled up quickly so that on Thursday when I saw a friend I hadn’t seen since before Cairo and she said, “How has your week back been?” I blinked and wondered how it had already been a full week. I know I ran on the beach with a friend. I know I visited the shuk to fill my fridge with vegetables, and visited the apartment I may move into soon, and stayed for a group dinner there that night, and I know I slept in almost each day…but had it really been a full week? Nearly.

Saturday was Yom Kippur, so Friday I packed a bag and took the last sheirut just before 2pm when public transportation would close, and went down to spend the night at some friends’ apartment. We ate a meal and began the fast, and I asked many questions about the day, the history, traditions, reasons, etc. and we had a great time relaxing and talking until it was time to walk down to synagogue.

“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.