Luxor

In 15 minutes I leave for Lebanon. I will be there for all of spring break (April 18^th to 28^th). As I will no doubt be quite busy, I can not guarantee that I will post anything this week. So, here is a different entry about spring break. It is an entry about last year’s spring break written by Adam Cox on the one year anniversary of his visit to Egypt. Enjoy!

(p.s. They did in fact end up charging us 11 LE extra for the bananas and sugar cane.)

Adam’s Entry, pt. 3 of 3

Some of you may remember two additions to this blog that I wrote a very long time ago. I ambitiously labeled the first one Part 1 of 3, thinking—although not entirely confident—that I would be able to follow through and actually write three parts. It’s not much to ask of myself, right? Oh well, about a year later here is the final installment.

I just consulted my pile of train tickets, calling cards and travel brochures, to find out that exactly one year ago—April 4^th 2007—I was arriving in Luxor, Egypt with Cole and Sam. I knew the date was close, because my birthday is in a couple of days, and it was the day after we returned to Cairo. It’s a happy coincidence because I had wanted to write about Luxor for this entry, and now it’s a sort of anniversary.

What you will read in a guidebook is something like this: Luxor is the modern day name for what was known as Thebes in ancient Egypt, which is likely a Grecian pronunciation of the Egyptian “t ipt-swt”. It is one of the most frequented tourist areas because of the abundant ruins—temples, tombs and monuments —nearby. Luxor Temple sits on the East riverbank and is central to the city today, and not far away is

the most famous temple in all of Egypt, Karnak. To cross to the west side of the river you can take the local ferry, which runs about 1 LE for foreigners. Once on the other side, many wonders await you: The Colossi of Memnon, The Valley of the Kings, Queen Hatshepsut’s temple, and the Ramesseum, among many others.

Given that it’s been a year, I don’t have all the details of our trip in my head. This is probably a good thing because now I can only focus on the really memorable parts, because I don’t remember the rest. On the other hand, it’s hard to say if any part of the trip was not memorable… Also, here is a direct link to the pictures Cole has posted, so you don’t have to scroll through pages of them to find the Luxor ones: http://www.flickr.com/photos/49095462@N00/page5/

The day that stands out was, I believe, the second day we were in Luxor. We had been trying to plan a day to the east bank of the river, and to spend an entire day visiting the sites over there. The conundrum was transportation because the most common way for people to do this was by bus (and typically our hotel had a “special deal, only for our good friends”) but we wanted to have none of that. Another possibility was bike rental, and because we fancied ourselves to be fit and ready for an adventure, we set out early in the morning to find bikes on the other side of the Nile.

Of course, it did not take long to find someone whose friend Mohammed ran the best bike shop around. On the other hand, it was no surprise that he was not around, and would we like to have some tea while we waited? We moved on, and were not surprised to find that there were many bike shops around the same area, and that all of them were ready do anything besides respect our discretion in order to get our business. We certainly didn’t have high expectations for the bikes, nevertheless it was funny to see the quizzical looks when we asked for a bike with more than one speed. As it turned out, only one of those bikes existed in the area. After cruising from store owner to store owner, leaving a trail of pleas and tea offers behind us, we decided to split up and spread our business around, diplomatically getting our bikes from those store owners that we felt a certain affinity for. My bike cost 5 LE (one dollar) to rent for the day, and Sam and Cole spent a similar amount.

The day that ensued was a delightful sight-seeing affair, including a pleasant bike-ride and an exciting hike. Given our lack of multi-speed bikes, we were happy for the mostly flat terrain. Our more or less final destination was the temple of Queen Hatshepsut. On our way there we passed the Colossi of Memnon, the Ramesseum, and some other place I don’t remember. We took a short cut through what seemed like a neglected collection of tombs, and did a bit of exploring, only to come to thick locked doors.

Using Google earth, I just calculated our ride to Hatshepsut’s temple to be about 4.5 miles. It was a beautiful day, and very hot, so having enough water was a concern, but we managed. I remember very well the large terrace-like courtyards and the rows of columns in front of hieroglyphs… but also I remember someone fainted from heatstroke and had to be carried away. With that in mind we decided to stash our bikes and hike up over the cliff to the Valley of the Kings, which seemed right next door according to the map we had. I just calculated that it was a mile walk, in sandy, rocky, improvised paths. It was great. We got a fantastic view of the temple (http://www.flickr.com/photos/49095462@N00/457076410/) and came to a top-view of the Valley of the Kings. I didn’t really know what it looked like, and was happy to see how disorganized it seemed. It’s a rocky, dead-end valley with winding paths that lead to holes in the ground, and milling tourists trying to make their way around the little maze. We cautiously slid down the hill into the back of the valley, unsure of what the guards would think when they saw little avalanches of rocks and visitors coming in from the back. They didn’t care at all, so we made our way to the ticket office, passing up the opportunity to buy an extra expensive ticket to see the tomb of Tutankhamen, because Cole and Sam had some specific tombs in mind already, I don’t remember which ones besides the tomb of Tuthmosis III. On the way out of it, I traded 5 LE for 1$ with a guard because an American had tipped him in dollars. It was the easiest transaction I made the whole time I was in Egypt. I almost felt like the guard was doing a disservice to his fellow countrymen by not arguing about the rate, or trying to get me to drink some tea.

We left the Valley of the Kings around the time that it was closing because we had left our bikes locked up in the parking lot at Hatshepshut’s and wanted to get to them before the guards did. We did, and enjoyed a cold soda at a roadside vendor (a guy with a fridge in front of his house) on the way home. That night we ate a deliciously indulgent dinner at a terraced restaurant overlooking the river.

Also memorable was our hotel, and the owner. It’s my nature to accept what I think is a good deal when I get the chance, and it’s Cole’s mentality to assume that before you’ve exhausted the options, you don’t even know what a good deal is. However, we all agreed that the first hotel we were taken to—The Everest Hotel—was a good deal at 5 LE (1$) each per night. Of course, just because the rate was good, and it was actually a decent place too, didn’t mean that any of their package tour or excursion deals would be worth it. That’s why we took the bikes.

However, in the afternoon of the last day, while we were sitting in the lobby of the hotel, I was worried that Cole’s competitiveness might be counterproductive. The owner had told us about a ride in a felucca, one of the many small one-sail boats that bring tourists up and down the Nile, and he had given us some price, which I don’t remember. Now we were planning on going that night, and Cole and the owner suddenly had a disagreement about the price. I don’t remember the details, but I remember that the owner was truly upset at one point, and Sam and I had to convince Cole to get over it and pay whatever price it was. It was probably about 5 or 6 dollars for the two hour ride. Probably Cole was unsatisfied that we were doing something so touristy and contrived (let alone paying for it) but in the end we agreed that it was a fun and relaxing, lazy thing to do.

The “captain” of our “ship” was a 15-year-old boy (probably some kind of cousin of the hotel owner) and his “first-mate” was his 8-year-old brother. They pushed off from the dock, set the course and offered us cigarettes. Soon we were meandering down the Nile, listening to a fuzzy Bob Marley cassette, watching the riverbanks slide by. A short while later, we arrived at our destination: Banana Island, still, there is doubt as to whether this is actually an island or not, we think it was just a clever peninsula. On the other hand, all of our reservations about price were obliterated when we found that the boat ride included all you can eat fresh bananas and sugarcane. Even Cole had nothing to complain about. Entirely satisfied and full of bananas, we returned to the boat and sailed home. As the sun started to descend toward the cliffs that hide the Valley of the Kings, I realized that the sunset would be spectacular, and thought of how beautiful this place was. Then, as I watched the sun sink, I saw the low cloud of smog envelope it, and obscure the gorgeous reds and purples I was anticipating. It reminded me that I was in Egypt; natural beauty covered by a thin haze of trash.

To not end on a note like that, I want to say that overall my trip to Egypt was delightful. I love being anywhere different, and in very few ways is Egypt similar to the US. So I have nothing but thanks for Cole’s and Sam’s hospitality, because it was a great time, and having a helpful and generous host in Egypt is invaluable. Cole never even asked for a tip.

Show Biz

There’s no business in show business. 

There’s no business. I know…

But hell, I’m gonna give it a try anyways.

 

I have been waiting two and a half weeks to write this entry.  The idea was to wait until I actually got paid, until I held that 300LE in my hand, an event which would put the cap on this tale and allow me to tell it without fear of any of the action sloshing over the brim of my narrative and thus being lost to you the drinker… er, reader… anyways.  Unfortunately, I now fear that if I wait for such an intangible and inconceivable cue as being given money in Egypt, you would never get to hear about the week I spent as an extra in an Egyptian movie.

The first thing I learned, and that you should understand lest you be too impressed, is that most of the work as an extra consisted of sitting around my apartment waiting to be called (on Sam’s cell), and trying to figure out which days I could work.  In the end, after scheduling clashes and over castings my week of pretending to be in show biz was whittled down to just one day of actually being in the studio.  And it was my very first day.

It all began on a Thursday evening as Sam and I were walking home from school.  As we passed the social sciences building heading towards Kushary Tahrir, we ran into two friends of ours sitting on the ledge at the bottom of the fence which surrounds the SS building.  As we went in for the hi-five-an-go, Jeff, the taller, punker, and more grown-out-bleached-blond of the two stopped us and said, “Yo… how’d you guys like to be in a movie.”  I had just got to the end of a long, project-filled, exam-tainted week and I knew my answer without even consulting my AUC FYE planner. 

Had I needed convincing here is what it would have been.  You get free dinner.  You make 300LE ($53) for on night of shooting.  Once at the studio you sit around, watch movies, talk with the other extras, drink if you smuggled anything in, and every so often you go up on set for a scene.

As extras we were not told the plot of the movie. We might leak the story.  However, from what I picked up from other people who had been around for a few sessions of filming, it is a love story about the life of Omar Sherif (Lawrence of Arabia, Dr. Zhivago, etc.) The story is told in three segments.  The first is on a cruise ship in 1948.  The second part is in Alexandria in the 70s.  It ends in modern day (2003) Cairo. Rumor has it that for the modern day segment, Omar Sherif will be playing himself.  If this is true, I will honestly be able to say that I was in a movie with Omar Sherif.  I was never on set at with him.  I was never even touched the same set upon which he would act.  I was never even on any set within a month of him being on any other set.  But the fact still stands, I will have been in a movie with Omar Sherif.

Currently they are filming the segment on the cruise ship.  This is why they needed western looking extras.  I got to be a sailor.  As a sailor my job was to ogle at the leading lady, some Lebanese actress and singer who makes ogling easy, and to carry a mop and bucket across the deck of the ship.  Oh yes, the ship.  In the middle of a giant auditorium-sized studio they had constructed half a cruise ship.  It was Hollywood to a T.  From deck, or one of the various rooms on the ship it looked for all the world like you could be in the middle of the ocean trying to steal another man’s girl.  But, as soon as you slipped behind the sheets of white siding and fake bolts, the world transformed into a network of plywood and supports.

The director, in an attempt to boost his eccentric points, only seems to work at night.  We arrived at the studio around 9:30 pm after spending a couple hours at the apartment of the extras recruiter named Mo.  We spent the first few hours getting into costumes.  Sam and Alex (the other friend who had been sitting by school) were made up as baggage boys with button-up shirts under blue overalls.  Jeff, like me, was a sailor.  The shoot dragged on till past 10 am, and we didn’t get home till 11:30.  During this time we actually only shot two scenes.  During the second scene some of the less appreciative extras started protesting and saying that they would leave if the shoot did not end soon.  I found this a little amusing, as we were only extras and probably more expandable then one ringlet in the lead actresses hair. 

The shoot finally ended and we got to go home.  The next day the shoot was cancelled, as it was the day after that.  The next day we meet up at the Mo’s apartment were we sat for over an hour before finding out that some new family had shown up and they had too many people already.  The next day was full as well.  The week continued in this pattern.  Finally, I threw in the towel, on which I had wiped my dream, and started focusing on getting the money for the one day Sam and I did actually get to work.  This new strategy has carried on for the last week and a half.  One day I even went to Mo’s apartment with Jeff and Alex.  Here I was detained for 3 hours before I got a chance to ask Mo for my money.  To which he replied, “Oh yeah, sorry about that dude, I just deposited it all in my account.  You don’t need it now do you? I’ll get you it tomorrow.”  That was 6 days ago.

In Cairo there seem to be a lot of small opportunities for westerners to pick up a little cash in the blurry background of some shot.  So, perhaps I will get this chance again.  If I do, I hope someone is there to slap me across the face, and remind me to think long and hard before accepting, although to be honest, I probably will.    

MIT

A few weeks ago I handed over the duty of keeping you all up to date on my activities to my good friend Adam Cox.  The last weeks of have been busy ones for Adam, but he has rallied his forces so now, once again, we are granted a day in the life of Adam in Cairo.

Adam’s submission, part 2 of 3:

As a primer for this entry I just looked back through the pictures that Cole has posted of the time while I was visiting.  I realized the ones where everyone is wearing white helmets and hanging from cables may look a little foreign, so I’ll explain those.

Early in the week after I arrived, Cole and Sam and I went on a trip that Ibrahim (second farthest from the camera in the log picture) had planned, to an MIT ropes course—yes, that’s right, Maximum Impact Training.  We left at 10:00am and our chartered van drove and drove and it turned out that Ibrahim wasn’t quite sure exactly where it was we were going, but we were getting closer.  And as Cairo was becoming distant in the background we had to turn and go back toward the city to be able to get off at the correct exit, and then we made it, at about 11:30.

After a brief orientation, where we shared our fears, expectations and names with each other, we were ready to start our experience.  Our team leaders, Carl and (for the sake of conversation let’s call her) Maggie were both friendly and enthusiastic, and were “ready to challenge us.”

Maximum Impact Training consisted of putting us in (imaginary) life or death scenarios, and seeing how we faired.  What would you do if faced with this situation?  You and six friends stand on the sandy edge of a deadly, but controlled, pool of acid and lava.  It looks like sand, but to touch it means certain, instant death.  You are the last survivors of a great civilization (we didn’t get much background on how all our other friends died, but we accepted the fact somberly).  A rope hangs above the middle of the acid/lava pool is your only means of crossing to the sandy bank on the other side.  You and your friends must evacuate your side within fifteen minutes, at which time inexplicable death awaits you; I think the entire world was going to blow up, actually.  Easy, you say?  Ah, but you are also charged with bringing the key of your civilization—yes, the small metal token that eternally sits atop the upturned end of an empty water bottle—across to the other side.  If anyone touches the token, or if it touches the deadly acid/lava, the world would undoubtedly blow up, the end of life as we know it.

But did we cringe?  Did we even look at each other and flinch?  No.  Admittedly, we were a little stunned by the gravity of the situation—I was at least—but no, we were not scared.  We were brave, resourceful, and successful.  Look around you… the world did not blow up.

That was one of a few scenarios that we coolly looked in the face and conquered.  Another involved acting like animals and organizing ourselves on a large log (the one pictured).  It was a little harder to take that one seriously.   In another we were faced with a sheer cliff face which we had to climb, keeping in mind complicated rules about how many people could stay at the top to help others up.  I believe that a horde of merciless bandits was bearing down on us, which would kill us and our families if we didn’t escape over the cliff in less time than it had taken the last group. 

In the pictures you can see the high ropes course, which, although it didn’t come with an elaborate fantasy, was still pretty fun.  It was most challenging for anyone with a fear of heights, like Perry, who gaspingly confessed her love for me while I helped her switch her harness from one cable to another. 

The long ride back to AUC was characterized by a long discussion about the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, and the problem of veiled women being denied jobs in commercial businesses.  Both were subjects I didn’t have much to say about, but were good to learn about.

And that’s all for now…

ELECT THIS!

Egypt is a country in which legitimate elections and unicorns share a similar plane of reality. That said I suppose it is not surprising that the Student Union (SU) elections are such a big deal at AUC. I heard stories last semester about how worked up people had gotten over the elections the year before. People got harassed in the halls, campaigners paid people to vote for their candidate, rumors were spread, reputations were ruined. I got the impression that this sort of thing had a history going back about as far as the SU. I also assumed, by how much I heard people talking about these voting issues, that it was something the school was becoming more aware of and concerned about. I assumed that the school would be cracking down on this sort of activity this year, and that a peaceful, respectable, boring election would ensue.

I once had a math teacher who used to say, “Assume makes an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me.’” Clearly I was paying too much attention to the math and not enough to the real lesson.

Before I talk about the election itself I feel I should introduce the five candidates for SU president.

Ahmed Abou Hussein: Current Chair of development and planning (SU), best SU member 06. When asked, “Why should people vote for you?” he replied, “Because I hope they believe in me as I believe in them.”

Ahmed Seddiq: President of the Egyptology Society, Math Society, and English Literature Society. When asked, “What’s the first decision you would make as president?” he replied, “Make every student, by default, a union member, people will not be excluded on account of interviews or qualifications.”

Hisham El Hifnawy: He was once a member of the sales committee in ‘The Challenge.’ When asked, “Why are you running?” he replied, “In opposition to the SU elections and how they are run. I wans [sic] to represent people who dont [sic] vote and hate the system and get harrassed [sic] by campaigners during the elections.”

Hussein Mohamed Abou El Soud: Current SU Treasurer. When asked, “Why are you running?” he replied Through my four-year experience in the SU, I realized what the people working in the SU need and what people outside it need from the SU and what the SU can really do. My vision and plan come from me and from a group of people who support and believe in me and the vision.”

Mohamed Yussr: First Year Experience organizing committee head, charity club vice president in Hand to Hand, best SU member 05-06. When asked what his greatest quality was he said, “Patience.” When asked about his greatest flaw he replied, “Being too kind.”

Opinions about the SU generally fall into two camps. There are those who believe that the SU is complete reorganization of the phrase “buts hill.” And, there are those who believe that the SU president comes somewhere just under The Prophet and just above the President of the United States of America, and that SU members are the planets true “chosen people.” I am a bit of a nomad, but I will let you guess who’s camp I generally sleep closer to.

Elections started on Sunday (the first day of the week here). I only had one class and it was on Greek Campus and I went home right after it. As a result I completely missed the passion of Voting Day #1, which was taking place on Main Campus. As some sort of security measure the powers that be (stupid) decided to move voting to a different area on campus each day. About an hour after arriving home, Jason burst into the apartment raving about the wildness that was going on. The support groups of the three main candidates (Ahmed Hussein, Hussein El Soud, Mohamed Yussr) have group colors. If you happened to be wearing one of these colors you would probably get harassed by members of the other groups. If you weren’t wearing one of these colors you would probably… get harassed by members of every group. The path between the tennis court and the basketball court on Main Campus was a mosh pit of campaigners and non combatants. As Jason tried to walk through the area he was ambushed by our friend Sara (campaigning for Ahmed Hussein) who then passed him off to another girl who proceeded to tell him everything he needed to know about their candidate. After voting Jason was hit by a second mob of people trying to find out who he had voted for. Finally, with all his appendages and most of his sanity still attached, Jason made it out the gate and into the street, where he could breathe a sigh of relief in the calm sanctuary of down town Cairo.

The second day of voting took place on Greek campus so I caught the tail end of the excitement on my way to my last class. Unfortunately, the passion had subsided slightly, and I was only harassed by one campaigner who ran alongside me nagging, “Can I have just a minute of your time to—” I looked him straight in the area directly in front of me and, with succinct honesty, said, “No.” He paused, taken aback, and I was gone. I was slightly disappointed that he didn’t put up more of a fight. More unfortunate still, just as Sam and I were getting ready to vote, it closed down for the afternoon. That night, while doing our homework, I talked with Sam about how satisfying it would feel to punch a campaigner in the face, and start a huge brawl, or simply how cool it would be if a brawl got started.

On the third day of voting I awoke bright and early, excited to do my civic duty as an upright AUCian. I would finish class at 2:00 and go over to New Falaki to vote. I got to school, and it was a matter of minutes before I heard the news. A fight had broken out. Some campaigners had lost it. A kid had been knocked out. The election had been shut down. And I… had missed it.

Right now it is unclear what will happen with the elections. Today this letter was released:

To the AUC Community:

A decision was reached today to suspend voting for the president of the Student Union. The university made the decision following a series of complaints by students concerning aggressive behavior toward voters by supporters of the various candidates. The decision to suspend the voting was based on the recommendation of a university committee representing the faculty and students.

The university is now conducting an investigation of a series of incidents that took place on Tuesday, May 8. Voting will resume when the investigation is completed. The university is prepared to take disciplinary action against anyone who is found guilty of disrupting or interfering with another student’s right to vote.

Following the investigation and before next year’s elections, the university will also design policies and procedures for all future elections to ensure that each student is allowed to vote without interference or disruption.

If any member of the AUC community has complaints or concerns about the voting process at the university, please contact me directly.

Ashraf El Fiqi

Vice President of Student Affairs

 

 

Three Weeks Gone

A very good friend of mine is in a very bad situation and I do not know what to do. I can pray. I can keep my fingers crossed. I was just on the internet looking up a band I ran across called Local H, and phrases, lyrics, adds and titles kept jumping out and speaking to me. It was surreal, almost disturbing, like this giant network of data and dateables was peeking into my mind and poking at my thoughts. “Too young to die.” “And this girl could” “Everyone Alive.” “Hands on The Bible.” “The Brain That Wouldn’t Die.” I averted my eyes, embarrassed by the superstitious notions that these lines conjured in me. I pretended to ignore them, pretended they were not there. I fear to fornicate with such signs. I may set my alarm clock to random numbers, but that is tradition. This is different. This is a hopeful reinterpretation of reality.

I am sitting on the couch listening to music which is slightly too loud for 1:00 AM. This much I can do. I am writing. This too I can do. And I can recall. The weeks since spring break have been wrenched out of my grasp one by one, before I ever really got a chance to examine them. I have not yet had the time to simply sit and think about Brenna, or anything for that matter. Since that fateful motorcycle accident more than three weeks ago I have received only occasional snippets updating me on her condition. “Brenna was in an accident. She is in a coma.” “Her condition is unstable.” “She responded to foot stimulus.” “Her mom flew to Lebanon to be with her.” “They are planning to fly her back to the states, so she must have stabilized a bit… right?” “Yesterday… Brenna… was pronounced brain dead.” “Today she lies in a hospital in Reno, Nevada fighting for her life. Pray. Brenna is an amazing person. She deserves to live.” And each time I receive one of these long awaited snippets I struggle to assimilate it to a life that has not quite come to terms with the fact that Brenna is no longer across the Nile watching The Office and playing with her kitties. A life which unconsciously assumes that at any moment Brenna might sneak up behind me and cover my eyes with her hands, and when I wriggle out of her grip, she will laugh and ask me why she has not seen me in such a long time. A life glazed in the distractions of life. In the last three weeks I have attended lectures; I got addicted to “Heroes”; I spent a night singing karaoke with the Egyptology department; I participated in the excitement, chaos and free-food-if-you’re-resourceful of International Day; I even went three days without sleep in a brash effort to finish an art project. This new personal record threw me into a surreal state intoxicated by daze and dream. For the next two nights my dreams were disorientingly vivid. I do not regret a moment of it.

Unfortunately, nowhere in these fun filled three weeks have I found a home for mediation and contemplation. I hope to find this tomorrow. Sinai Liberation Day has in turn liberated me from a day of classes. Somewhere between the hours of homework I must complete, I will find a quite corner to occupy, and sit down with my subconscious and explain to it the facts of life. This done… I will do my best to forget them.

An Introduction to Cairo

Because I was in Cairo for two weeks, taking up Cole’s spring break, and delaying his homework schedule, I think it’s only fair that I submit an entry here for him.
Adam’s submission, part 1 of 3:

Many days ago, March 27 or so, I arrived at the Cairo airport a bit after 1am.  I made it through the visa line, and then the passport line, and then the baggage claim and then customs, and emerged from the arrival gate a bit after 2am.  I was greeted by a grinning, semi-bearded Cole, and we made our way to the taxi he had waiting.  There wasn’t too much traffic on the ride home, and the driver preferred to straddle the lanes rather than commit to one or the other—clearly the dotted line was no more than well-intentioned decoration.  Cole and I stepped quietly past the doorman at the apartment building, sleeping on a cot near the doorway, and walked up the stairs to Cole’s fourth floor apartment.  Cole doesn’t use the elevator.

The next day we filled up my backpack with scholarly books and armed with my backpack as camouflage and Sam’s student ID, I followed Cole around school and visited his classes for the day.  The AUC campus is downtown, so it’s self contained on a few city blocks.  The buildings are decent; there are some grassy courtyards and an outdoor basketball/soccer court.  I was happy to tag along—with a slightly dazed demeanor, I’m sure—and meet Cole’s friends, and see what his classes are like.  I fell asleep during his general lecture for scientific thinking, which was actually a movie about the origin of
the earth.

The next day, while Cole was in his quasi-art class, I took a long walk around the extended neighborhood.  Not long after I started walking, two twenty-something Egyptians caught my attention, welcomed me to Egypt, asked where I was from, and then one of them took out a camera while the other put his arm through mine.  I wish I had asked him to take a picture with my camera too, but I just smiled.  They were very grateful.

A few blocks later and around the corner, a thin man with a cheery disposition fell into step with me.  He said he really liked my bandana and asked where I’d gotten it.  “Nice material,” he said.  We started talking and slowly came to a halt.  He told me about a couple of things I must do while I was in Cairo—watch the sunset from the Cairo Tower and visit the Egyptian Museum.  He told me with laughing regret about the time he had been in the states, and he had broken his ankle.  We commiserated.  He was very open and friendly, so I agreed to come into his shop (which we happened to be directly in front of) to “get his business card.”  We were friends now, after all.  But that’s not quite the reason I came away with a couple of colorful paintings on imitation papyrus.

I did not go to Cairo without a clue about the local economy, so I wasn’t surprised when he invited me in and nonchalantly began his pitch (which really had started back with the compliment to my bandana).  But I was surprised at how hard it was to get away.  One important sales strategy I learned that day, is to blur the line between “like” and “want.”  He would point to two paintings and say “Just tell one thing, which one do you like more?”  Technically everyone would be able to answer that, it’s a simple question.  When you admit that the one on the left is a little more colorful than the other, he says “How much would you pay for it?”  Because if you like it, even a little, then you must want it, even a little. And it’s a slippery slope down from there, let me tell you.

That was the first of three shops I visited that day, and the first of many, many good friends I made in Egypt.  In fact I became “like a son” to one who invited me to his daughter’s wedding the next day, and then didn’t let me out of his shop without leaving her “a little bit of money for the honeymoon, whatever I felt good about.”  I was like family to him.

Soon after I got them, I stashed the two papyrus paintings that on a secluded (and dry) pile of horse dung because it was clear that while I was carrying them, they were a big bull’s-eye for anyone aiming at money that day.  (And although I was hopeful, the next day when Cole and Sam and I checked, the paintings were gone. Oh well, I felt a little silly…)  Something I did get from the walk was a terrific head-ache, from the thick exhaust that surrounded the busy roadways.  I also felt well-educated by the time I made it back to the apartment.

Speaking of the apartment, it is spacious.  The ceilings are a good twelve or fifteen feet high.  There are three large rooms—the entry room, which is nice and big, but mainly just gets walked through—the living room, home to Cole’s and Sam’s laptops and a comfortable couch—and the dining room, where people can eat on the half of the table that Cole hasn’t roped off for his art projects.  Also there are two bedrooms, a kitchen (with a washer/dryer supermachine, infamous for wrinkling clothes), a grungy bathroom, and a dusty balcony.  It’s a nice place, kind of.  The telephone issue was still unresolved by the time I left, and, for better or for worse, the hot water heats up to about 211 degrees Fahrenheit

As it suggests above, this is just the first part.  Two weeks in Egypt is a huge thing to summarize.  So check back in a little while…

Teaching Me a Thing or Two

Spring break in only a week a way, which means I am halfway through this semester (3/16 of my undergraduate experience tucked away) and I still have not written about my classes. In alphabetical order according to the last letter of the first syllable of the first word I am taking: Global Politics in the Twentieth Century, Modern Political Theory, Scientific Thinking, Fundamentals of Color and Design and Classical Arabic.

Classical Arabic: Unlike the colloquial Arabic course I took last semester, classical Arabic focuses on the skills of reading and writing the Arabic language. Classical is a flavor of Arabic concocted by the Qur’an. A rather highbrow cuisine, it is native to no country and served mainly by scholars, politicians and the media. It differs from local dishes in pronunciation, grammar, and much of the vocabulary. Sam and I are taking the same class which is taught by a very sweet older woman named Ragia. It is very exciting to be learning the Arabic script finally. They would not let me take colloquial in the Arabic script last semester. However, at times it is a little annoying to know that much of what I am learning will not serve me in Egypt.

Fundamentals of Color and Design: Considering this is an art class, the first thing to notice is that the word “art” appears nowhere in the title. This is very significant. The class is most certainly not about expressing yourself, being original, breaking the rules or creating something pleasing that you might want to put on a wall. Rather it is a series of progressively more complicated challenges or puzzles going through the various mediums and techniques which others who have gone before us have used to create ART. A proverbial assignment is something like: using the repetition of one non objective shape of varying sizes, create a piece with a clear focal point, movement, balance, planed composition, and conscious use of negative space. The class is fun and I get the chance to be creative, but at times it is frustrating to see a wonderful piece by one of your classmates stripped of value and dismissed because it fails to conform to the “rules of art” or worse still to see a classmate destroy a wonderful composition so that it will conform to the teachers criteria and earn them an A.

Scientific Thinking: I have heard many people draw a parallel between Scientific Thinking and the courses they remember from sophomore year of high school. Unfortunately, I went to Youth Initiative High School so I can’t even make this comparison. I will say that we covered Galileo in Scientific Thinking and we covered Galileo in 7^th grade, and balls down the 7^th grade version did it better. The goal of the course is to teach aspiring young AUCians to think scientifically about life, the universe and everything by tracing the evolution of science through key bullet points like Aristotle and the invention of science, Galileo and the scientific method, Popper’s falsification doctrine, Hubble and the expansion of the universe, Darwin and evolution, and more (but not much).

Modern Political Theory: The name sums up most of the content but for those of you with a curious itch, we are covering Locke, Rousseau, Kant, Marx, Engels, Nietzsche, Gandhi and Hannah Arendt. The class is taught by an excellent teacher named Mike Lattanzi. He is Canadian and revealed to me a small ice rink in Maadi where he plays every Friday morning. I joined him a couple weeks ago, but it was rather expensive and the rental skates were so dull it was like playing with skate guards still on. I was the only one who didn’t have his own skates so I ended up looking like a flailing idiot and got a lot of bruises, but it was a rare and exciting treat. Unfortunately, Mike is moving to Cambodia at the end of the semester.

Global Politics in the 20^th Century: Taught by one of the youngest (29) and quirkiest teachers at AUC, this class is a gem. Paul du Quenoy was born in Miami and grew up with a love for all things Russian. He got his first call from the CIA at age 19 and had to turn their recruiters down twice. Instead, he went on to get his PhD. in Russian History from Georgetown and then head to Egypt. Now he spends his days making grotesque faces at girls wearing Gucci who don’t have the sense to shut off their cell phones and revising his book Stage Fright: Politics and the Performing Arts in Late Imperial Russia. His dream is to retire early and escape to South America were he will write spy novels about Russia and the Middle East in which terrorist use human trafficking to fund their work.

If you have any questions concerning any of my courses, by all means, ask away.

B&W

Last semester a group including Sam, Jason and Mars made a trip to the White and Black deserts. Unfortunately, at the time the iron grip of homework was squeezing my… arm, so I was unable to join the party. When the explorers returned, I got to hear some nice stories about the nice times they had doing all kinds of nice things. All in all it seemed like a nice trip, and I didn’t especially regret missing it. How foolish I was. Naturally, when I heard that another trip to the desert was being arranged I felt obligated to go.

At this point I could launch into a play by play account of what happened, but this would be to miss the desert for the sand. More importantly, the play by play account would simply be very very boring. This was not a trip etched with mishap and fed on strange encounters. This was a trip about leaving one of the dirtiest, busiest, crampediest places on earth and heading to one of sandiest, emptiest most sprawling places imaginable. If you can summon the feeling of standing up after a long night of dense reading, stretching your arms wide and taking a long deep breath as every once of your physical, mental and spiritual self recalls that there is more to life, and now grab that moment by both ends and stretch it out to encompass two days, this would be my experience in the desert.

It is not often these days that I visit the swing set, or splash in the crick, or put on a cape, in fact one of the things that is greatly lacking from my life is good old-fashioned PLAY. But, I made up for lost time damn it, I made up good. From skitching behind the 4X4 down a huge sand dune to an evening of Rolf (rock golf) I filled my day with play. I leaped and bounded, cartwheeled and handstanded, sprawled and sprang, soured and landed.

Actually, I am not going to say anything else about the trip. I will not tell you who all came or who got sick. I will not tell you if we had lamb and rice and potato stew for dinner. I won’t tell you about my sunburn or rock collection or the students we met from West Point. I am not even going to write about Jason getting lost for hours in the desert in the middle of the night. If you are curious about any of these things you can ask me, look at the pictures, come visit me in Egypt or stuff it.

The Week in Review

Someone once said, “There are only ever two good reasons to get out of bed in the morning: to make this world a better place, or go to the bathroom.” I think I need to stop drinking water before bed because lately I am relaying heavily on the latter.

Today I slept in till almost 2:00pm, it was wonderful. The preceding nights I didn’t slip under the covers till past 5:30am. I have finally started my Global Politics in the 20th Century course. The First week the teacher was sick. The teacher is wonderful and quirky and very funny, but there is a lot of reading. This accompanied by the wonderful but time consuming addition of an art class to my schedule are a recipe for sleeplessness (that word is serious competition for Mississippi). I celebrated Valentines Day by getting dragged along (my conscience did most of the dragging) to a party. Besides a certain predisposition to the colors red, white and pink, there was little to set this party apart from any other. The now-how-did-I-get-drunk-so-quickly girl showed up as scheduled dutifully falling on as many people as possible as she did her rounds. The three Scandinavian girls flitted about like an opportunity on wings. One even asked if I would trade shirts with her. The music fought hard to stay within the borders of prediction and the more contemplative in the crowed disappeared to the roof. I vowed to only stay for a little while and celebrated this commitment by not getting home until 2:00am.

Interestingly, the week started on a much different note. Phil’s girlfriend is Indian, and Friday night we were invited to a dinner at her apartment. We were almost the last of the guests to arrive, and when we entered the apartment people were seated in the living room discussing Egypt and eating hor d’oeuvres with names I do not recall. The company was quintessentially intellectual. There was an ex-study abroad student recently graduated and returned to Egypt to study Arabic, a young American man working in Egypt as a journalist, one of the girls who lives at the apartment and was also studying Arabic, and an American Oxford graduate living in Egypt to attend dinner parties and entertain the guest with his clever, sardonic wit. We visited for a while, and when the last guest arrived, a girl from one of my political science classes, we moved to the dinner table and got started. The dinner was amazing. The dinner was simply and profoundly amazing. There were a half dozen dishes all boasting more vegetables than I get in a week of my normal diet. Every few minutes the room would fill with silence as its usually talkative inhabitance abandoned banter for the joys of chewing. After a light dessert people said their good byes and one by one left for home. Finally Sam, Jason and I took off, leaving Phil to help with the dishes.

The next morning, ok to be honest it was well into the afternoon, Sam and went exploring. We took the subway a random direction till it petered out in a small area called Shubra El Kheima. The scenery was vastly different from Down Town. The buildings were bent and broken. Streets were dirt, and laundry hung on scraggly trees and between apartments. Interestingly, during our walk we encountered three albino Egyptian kids. Towards the end of our excursion we turned into yet another alley and found two kids playing ping pong, and behind them, in the middle of the dirt road, a little, broken down pool table. Naturally, the situation had to be taken advantage of. So, surrounded by a handful of little kids, wielding broken cues, Sam and I faced off. It was an interesting game. The road wasn’t quite level and the table was slightly twisted out of shape, so with each shot you had to calculate speed, angle and slop, more like putting in golf than pool. I think Sam won. No wait I think Sam had an easy shot on the 8 ball but miscalculated the slop and then I won… or maybe Sam won. I will have to ask him when he gets home. Anyways, we paid the man who seemed to own the table 1LE and were on our way.

Combat Boots and Clear Shields

Well, it’s been a quite week in Down Town Cairo my home city. Classes have started up again reaffirming the timeless belief that the world is made up of good teachers and computer technicians who find there way into a classroom. Arabic is off to a slow start, and one of my political science teachers called in sick Monday and Wednesday. Our internet is still on the frits, so when I found out class was cancelled Wednesday night I headed to the school library to send out a few messages. My inbox held a new message from the mysterious Amy Dix. Amy is my sister Erin’s Husband’s mother’s high school roommate’s daughter. And just like Lone Star and Dark Helmet the two of us are destined to meet. Although it seems unlikely that this will ever actually happen. Amy goes to the University of Chicago and is studying in Egypt for winter. She contacted me, looking for a friend, while I was in Wisconsin. Since I got back to Cairo we have been trying to meet.

The message in my inbox said that she was going to some church event and wouldn’t be able to meet me that night at 6:00 and I should call her if I could meet at 8:00. I went in search of a phone. The first two people I asked had forgotten their cells at home. Then I recognized two Swedes I had met at FYE, Sven and Hanna. I innocently struck up a conversation and was blindsided by an invitation to a professional soccer game between Egypt and Sweden. The game started at 8:00 pm and it was almost 6:00. I borrowed Hanna’s cell, rescheduled with Amy, and before you could say, “Who the heck are these Indian kids,” I was in broken down car with 4 Indian kids sputtering towards the stadium. We reached the game about 45 minutes early and sat around waiting for the bus carrying Hanna, Sven and all the other people from the Swedish embassy who had received complementary tickets to the game. The bus arrived and we rushed inside… right through the wrong gate. The different sections of the stadium are divided for crowd control so we couldn’t get to the Swedish section from inside. We had a hell of a time getting back through security and convincing the guards that we were Swedish. Finally, we pushed our way inside and snagged some third row seats next to a line of riot police. During warm-ups Hanna got kicked a soccer ball that approximately 7,574 people in audience would have appreciated more than she. Sadly this turned out to be just about the most exciting part of the game. Sweden left their top 3 players at home and lost 2-0 because of it. The Egyptians went wild and the Indians and I were offered a free ride to Zamalek on the Swedish bus. Everybody was happy.

As soon as we left the stadium a group of little Egyptians started following Hanna and her ball. We deliberated about a fair way to dispose of it, since Hanna didn’t want it and having not caught it myself I would have felt silly taking it. Just as we were getting on the bus, Hanna hurled it backwards over her head. At that moment about a hundred riot police just happened to be marching out of the stadium right behind us. As the ball arced skywards a dozen little Egyptian, eyes glued on the heavens, careened into a wall of combat boots and clear shields. The two small armies merged and chaos foamed from the stew. The ball was lost from sight and then we were on the bus and on our way.