Cairo grew on us. Okay, it’s still crazed with traffic, thick with litter, and a bit depressing with apartments that are in terrible shape, but it’s also young, energetic, and lively. On our way back from dinner during our second stay in the city, I shot a video that I hope to be able to load on the blog. It showed energy, people out enjoying the cold evening, guys on rollerblades (only guys) weaving in and out of traffic. The crazed rollerblade demons were clearly enjoying themselves, putting themselves at physical risk and yet at the same time being totally in control.
(I'm not having any luck loading the video, but may try again later.)
Speaking of traffic, it is possible that in a city of nearly ten million people, there are only about three or four traffic lights. Editor: Um, there’s a typo – you left out “hundred thousand.” Writer: No, I’m serious. I don’t understand how there are not significantly more accidents (there seem to be a lot, but should be more) but somehow it all works out. How does it work out? Well, in the great comedic timing of “Shakespeare in Love,” “it’s a mystery.”
Egypt has a lot of stray dogs and feral cats. They all appear to be well-groomed and are polite around people. The dogs are pretty good looking, with most having a similar light brown color, short hair, and are not aggressive at all. They stay out of your way, but not in a scared or jumpy sort of fashion. The stray puppies are the cutest. The feral cats are cats, so there is nothing cute about them.
There’s a lot of McDonald’s restaurants in Egypt. That’s it, that’s the riff.
You’ll note that I have not gone off on my typical rant about having to pay for bathrooms. I suppose I am simply resigned to the idea of shelling out a buck each time I needed to go to the bathroom. It’s a pretty good scam, as you can either pay 5 Egyptian Pounds OR one American dollar. However, we didn't change much money, so I mostly was pulling out George Washingtons. One dollar is worth 30 Egyptian Pounds, so I am essentially paying American money at six times the exchange rate. On the other hand, the few times I did have a 5 EGP note, I was exultant about not overpaying to use the W.C.
Oh, you don’t have to pay at the hotels and on-board the two ships we traveled on, but when you are at temples, other sites, rest areas along the major roads, or even at most restaurants, it was time to reach into your pocket for the right to use the toilet. Oh, and bathroom quality varies widely. Wildly widely. To be fair, the idea of paying to flush in some countries in Europe is still annoying, but in Egypt, I dealt with it. . .it’s not like I have a choice!
Beyond bathroom use, it seem like everyone is reaching a hand out for tips in Egypt. No matter what someone did, they then asked for a tip. I sneezed once, someone said "God Bless," and put their hand out. I only heard the word “Baksheesh” a few times, the old Egyptian word for tip has been replaced by either rubbing two fingers together or just holding out a hand. I almost prefer to be asked for Baksheesh, although notice I wrote “almost.”
The large front walls of Egyptian temples are called “pylons” and served as gateways to the inner area of a temple. Pylons have gone from this:
Pylon of Temple of al-Dest
To this:
Traffic pylons of the modern era.
Has anything else taken such a hit in stature during the last 4000 years to now? I don't think so. Pylons gotta feel second class these days, going from exalted status in BC times to orange traffic cones today.
Editor: I must admit, I didn't have "Traffic pylons" on my Bolger Family Travel Blog Bingo card. Writer: I did, which is why I wrote about it.
Contractually, tours have to be led through the ubiquitous souvenir stands that are lined up outside of, and sometimes inside of, the various temple and other sites. The haranguing we poor, bedraggled tourists get from the souvenir stand people is non-stop. They each latch onto different ones of us.
The best theatrical work since
Shakespeare. Change my mind.
Ever notice before that “Contractually” is essentially two words smushed together: “contra-” and “actually”? Yeah, me neither. Makes you think.
Editor: No, it doesn’t make me think. Writer: Your loss.
Carol constantly reminds me not to make eye contact with the souvenir vendors. At the start of the trip, Sam warned us in his briefing to not make eye contact with the vendors and don’t look interested at their wares unless you actually are interested. But yikes, they are relentless. They get right in your way, forcing you to look at them. And then they move in for the kill.
It was a running joke among the group to say “one dollah,” as that appears to be the price for everything. If I had a dollar for every time I heard “one dollah,” I’d have a lot of dollahs.
The vendors must believe that continual pestering will wear you down. And it does. Thankfully, every time I felt myself weakening, Carol would whisper sweet nothings in my ear, such as “don’t make eye contact!” “Don’t show interest.” “Don’t engage,” which is not what she said 36 years ago.
I get it with the vendors, they are so relentless that some people break down and buy something just to make it stop. “Man, the man is non-stop!”
It’s no secret that I write the posts sequentially rather than jump around from topic to topic like I used to, so I’m writing the rest of the blog in the Frankfurt airport, on the flight from there back to the US, and at home. So, I can safely say that the Jordan souvenir vendors are no where near as annoying at the Egyptian vendors. Walking through the Jordan shops, it’s as though you just think “no” and the Jordan vendors shrug and give up. I do respect the vendors of both countries for working hard to scratch out a life, and I sure would not want to live that job.
One thing I will miss about the Middle East (besides the whole “Cradle of Civilization” thing, which they did well) is the tinny loudspeaker calls to prayer from the minarets, and the reading of the Koran. Not that I have any idea of what they are saying, but the sound of it resonates. It’s not my kind of ritual, but I do enjoy hearing it being practiced (don’t worry mom, we’re not converting to Islam).
But. . . if I did convert, I’d change my name to Kareem Abdul-Jabber. Think of the restaurant tables you would get when making reservations. Boy would those restauranteurs be bummed out when I actually show up! Of course, then they would dunk on my food order, so maybe it's not such a great idea.
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