On Amr Diab

Last night I was fortunate enough to check my American citizenship at the door. To be specific, the door of an Amr Diab concert at Future University outside of Cairo. For those of you not up on local culture, Amr Diab is the Egyptian equivalent of Michael Jackson—but on steroids. I can’t imagine that there’s a single Egyptian who doesn’t know the life and times of Amr, and I’m also quite confident that babies come out of the womb humming his tunes. If there ever was a god of pop in Egypt, it’s Mr. Diab. So who could say no to being amongst the 50,000 people to see him live at FU?! (Side note: someone clearly did not give enough thought to the university’s name). Not this guy.

Yesterday at 4:00 in the afternoon Carl and I strolled to the microbus station with a couple of Egyptian friends and headed to Cairo. We arrived a couple hours later and began our hunt for tickets. (No, TicketMaster does not service Egypt). One of our Egyptian friends (Ahmed) told us to chill by the entrance while he tracked some down. After 45 minutes without any luck, Carl and I decided to take matters into our own hands. In about 20 minutes, we managed to find two tickets for ourselves. American efficiency to the max. Despite the lack of cell connection, we then found Ahmed, who had by that time also managed to buy tickets for the group. Carl, former Best Buy employee extraordinaire, then kicked in to salesman-on-commission mode and within 10 minutes had sold the two extra tickets back for the prices we originally paid. All this and we hadn’t even entered yet.

We followed the masses to an area behind the stadium. This would be the first of three checkpoints that I would pass before I actually entered the concert area. (I say ‘I’ because Carl and Ahmed took a different route. But more on that later.) Now, 50,000 people without a doubt constitute a crowd. But there are larger venues in the U.S. Ohio Stadium, for example, holds over 100,000 people. Knowing this, I figured there would be a measure of organization for filtering fans into the stadium. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. The first “fun zone” went something like this:

Everyone pushes and shoves and then shoves and pushes. If it were simply shoulder-to-shoulder it would be more bearable. Not so here. The crowd dictates when and how you move. You trip, but you cannot fall because everyone is packed in so tightly. All of a sudden, a huge push back. Yelling. Screaming. Swearing. But no fighting—not enough room. Then a huge surge forward. Some are escaping the human blob. Rinse and repeat. Our turn finally comes at the front. A line of police are shoving people back, doing their best to control the crowds. Carl and Ahmed break free in the confusion. I attempt to escape as well but am met with resistance. A young security guard backs up and then lunges forward to push back the masses. I step to the left to avoid getting the full brunt of his force. He misses me, trips and falls to the ground. Two other police officers instantly look at me, possible wondering if I pushed him down. People still escaping the chaos. I get tangled up between a row of people and a row of security. We all fall. Crowds still rushing. My glasses have been knocked off my face. People running. Immediate thought: “Forget the glasses. New concern: Don’t get trampled.” I pop up and run off to the side. One down and two to go.

Side note: While the security establishment was operating at just a step below “crack some skulls,” I can’t blame them too much. People were acting horrendously. I cannot for the life of me figure out why the concept of a “line” is so foreign. At the risk of sounding like a concerned parent, there was absolutely no need for the pushing and shoving. If people would have just stood in line, the police could have released a couple dozen people at a time and no one would get hurt. Simple.

In the U.S., the line system is ingrained from elementary school. You walk in a line everywhere you go. Being the line leader is pretty much the coolest thing ever for a 7 year-old. And God help the guy who cuts the line. Even 3rd graders will organize themselves against this helpless individual, publicly shaming him until he takes his rightful place at the back of the line.

Then again, it’s easy to see in Egypt how the “every man for himself” mentality overtakes any affinity for justice and order. With limited resources, high unemployment, and widespread poverty, if you’re not first, you’re probably last. Lines just don’t make sense if this environment.

To return:

At this point, I was pretty pissed off. My clothes were dirty, my knees were most likely bloody, and I couldn’t see much in the distance. I also had no idea where Carl and Ahmed were. Great start to the evening.

“Crowd control” gate #2 was now in front of me. A couple of police officers were roaming about near a different direct entrance to the venue. I (maybe shamefully) tried to play the American card to see if I could get in that way and avoid a second round of whatever it was I had just endured. Unfortunately, they either didn’t care or couldn’t understand me, because they simply pointed to the next gate. FML.

Luckily, I happened to walk up to the gate just as security let a bunch of people pass, including myself. Easy breezy. I was pleasantly surprised. Two down and one to go.

After quickly passing through the gate, I finally found the main entrance. My first sight was a security officer the size of a Mack truck waving a taser in the air. And he let everyone know it worked. I could see the blue electrical connection and hear the buzzing noise every time he waived it in the air. And of course there were the standard baton-wielding goons to complement the array of force projections.

While I was waiting in line, I continued to try calling Carl. I was surprised to not see him and Ahmed waiting in line, as my tussle with the police had not taken that long. After several failed attempts to talk to each other over the noise, I was able to tell him I was in line and to meet me by the entrance. I made it through security without getting tased (but with a full body and bag search), but when I finally entered the stadium, Carl and Ahmed weren’t there.

Why? Well . . . they were waiting by the entrance for me. But it wasn’t the normal entrance. They were standing near the special entrance that I had previously tried and failed to enter. Carl, like me, played the American card with the guards. And it worked for him, so he and Ahmed managed to bypass not one but two lines. I wasn’t sure whether it was a compliment or not that the guards didn’t let ME pass. I guess I don’t look overtly American, so maybe they just thought I was pullin’ their chain. I’ll stick with that explanation—I looked too Egyptian.

I think it was about 9:00 by this point. Amr Diab was supposed to go on at 9:30, but the opening act hadn’t even started yet. So I guess everything was pretty normal in terms of Egyptian time. We pushed our way to the front of the general admission section, which in this case meant we were closer to the stage but still couldn’t see much. While waiting for the music, I noticed a dude rub up against me, put his hand below my front pocket, and push my phone up out of my pocket. It was actually pretty smooth, but I caught him red-handed. He managed to get my phone out, but there was no room for him to run. I grabbed his hand, said a few pleasantries, and after shooting me a look of terror, he dropped my phone. I pushed him out of the way, and he slipped back into the crowd, probably to look for another innocent bystander. A couple other times throughout the night, dudes would stroll up behind me and half grab my ass to see if there was a wallet there. Instead of turning around and yelling, I discovered that attempting to hold their hand while winking usually diffused the situation the fastest.

By about 11:00, Amr Diab finally came on stage to 50,000 screaming fans. I couldn’t have been more thankful, as the crowd focused its attention on the stage and not fighting/shoving/stealing. The concert itself was pretty on point. Diab can definitely blast out the notes. I was, however, more impressed by the band. There was essentially a mini-orchestra on the stage. The music was a great fusion of East and West—thumping beats mixed with traditional string instruments. Good stuff.

In the end, it was great to see Egyptians happy and smiling. Regardless of the chaos that ensued getting to/into the concert, the entire event was a microcosm of Egyptian life: disorganization and confusion wedded to general camaraderie and living in the moment. I didn’t know many of the songs (nor could I understand much), but everyone was singing all the words at the top of their lungs.

If nothing else, it was a 3-hour vacation from the stresses of daily life. And in this regard, I was just as Egyptian as everyone else.

Fayoum and the Valley of the Whales

Pictures from my trip to Fayoum can be found here. And here's some info about the Valley of the Whales. Highlights include whale skeletons in the middle of the desert, great landscapes, and the largest waterfall in Egypt (complete with kids jumping off it).

To get ya'll started, here's a picture of ship passing through the Suez Canal. Looks like it's floating on desert. While this ship was large, it was one of the smaller vessels I saw on the Canal.

Spain Pictures Part Dos

Here's a link to the rest of the pictures. Highlights include the Royal Palace and its neighboring cathedral, an Egyptian temple in the heart of Madrid, and Plaza Mayor. Plus some generally great views of the city and its architecture.

Spain Pictures Part 1

First set of pictures are of El Real Monasterio de El Escorio. It's a former palace/monastery about 30 minutes outside of Madrid.

Here's a link to the pictures and to the Wiki page for more info. I wasn't able to take pictures inside, except for a couple of spy shots in the basilica, so see Wiki for some insider shots.

More to come tomorrow.  

On Arab Models

I just got back from a week in Madrid, Spain. Needless to say, it was a refreshing experience. But before I launch into my exploits there, I think the public should know about my encounter with two Arab models in Zagazig. Let's begin.

Sunday: Halfway through a pretty lazy day, Carl and I decided to take a test drive in our co-worker's new car. We end up at Zagazig University in the Faculty of Arts for a round of tea and coffee with maybe every teacher in the building. We finally make it to the dean's office. While trying not to throw up from yet another drink, I notice two large posters in the corner. I discovered that the signs were advertisements for two models that would be coming to the university on Tuesday: one Egyptian-American and one Moroccan. Thinking that two models heading to Zagazig is pretty big news, I ask if I can go.

"No problem."

I feel relieved knowing the sixteen pounds of tea I just drank might have paid off.

Tuesday: After teaching a couple classes, it's now 11:00, the start-time of the lecture by the models. I find another teacher to see if he wants to go with me, and by 11:30 we head out. (Normally, I would be annoyed at having left so late, but I've clearly adjusted to Egyptian time because I wasn't concerned. And what is Egyptian time? It's looking at your watch and realizing that you've just wasted five seconds by actually looking at your watch).

So we stroll into the dean's office 30 minutes late. I'm a little worried because I didn't want to interrupt the presentation. Then I'm immediately confused why the models would be presenting in the dean's office. Answer: things are running "a little behind." The models are just chilling on a couch eating lunch.  They notice that my accent is a little off for the area, find out I'm American, and ask me to eat lunch with them. Right on time. Turns out that the Moroccan is from the town where I studied in Morocco. Small world. And the Egyptian-American lived in New Jersey for 10 years. Naturally. We chatted for a little while. They told me how they go around to different schools giving talks about how girls should act (like what to wear for a job interview) and how they can be both beautiful and conservative at the same time. Positive message, and both models seemed to be on point. A guy with a camera records some of our conversation. I apparently joined their campaign.

12:15 rolls around. Go time. We walk down a hallway, and the guy with the camera opens up a set of doors. They want me to walk in first. I step into the room, and in an instant 400 girls stop their conversations and turn their attention to me. Hilarious. I am given the middle seat in the first row. Unnecessary, but I didn't complain.

But wait! There's more!

What followed was a series of introductions. Of the dean. Of the dean's friend. Of the dean's assistant. Of the models. Everyone. Including me--but with a twist. The dean, bless his heart, began to announce me in this manner (in Arabic): "And we also have an American here today. He teaches English at the Center for English for Specific Purposes..."

And then, he couldn't remember my name. The teacher next to me shouted it out. The models each told him. Still nothing. The teacher shouted it again. And then he said it into the microphone. Now up to this point, each name was greeted with a large round of applause. But when my name was said, approximately three people from the back of the room began to clap. And not well. It was clapping of the lethargic, possibly sarcastic, variety. This was then followed by a round of laughter from the entire room. I couldn't help but crack up myself.

I listened to one of the models give her lecture, but because things got started to so late, I had to get back to the Center to teach another class. I waited for the first model to finish up, then told the other teacher that we had to go. Instead of just quietly walking out, he walked up to the panel of speakers. He then proceeded to tell the dean that I had to leave because I had to teach. The dean and his assistant got up and said some words and we all shook hands. But there were microphones in front of each of them, so this entire conversation was broadcast to the entire audience. AND while the other model was also beginning her speech. So awkward. Fortunately I looked at the Egyptian-American model and she gracefully shot me a look of "Don't worry about it. I understand, and it's not your fault."

So much for a quiet exit.

Upon leaving, the cameraman came back and asked me several questions about the talk and the models. And his camera was definitely on and recording the whole time. I'm sure the video will surface somewhere in their future presentations.  

So to conclude, there is no conclusion. Only going with the flow. Egyptian style.

The Friday Brief

It's been a while since I've posted anything new, mostly because life has normalized to the point where there simply isn't much to report. A couple small items:

One week ago I was supposed to travel to the Western Desert and visit the Siwa Oasis. The trip was sponsored by Fulbright and fully paid for, but unfortunately I didn't go. I believe a bad ful sandwich is to blame. About an hour after I arrived in Cairo the night before the trip, my stomach decided that it didn't like anything I had consumed in the last 24 hours. Fortunately, the fiancee of my former Arabic prof at AUC is a doctor. He checked me out and gave me a prescription that kicked in fairly quickly. Needless to say, I didn't go on the trip but instead returned to my apartment in Zagazig. Apparently Cairo hates me. Bad news: missed the trip. Good news: I made a full recovery. I think I won't eat anything for 72 hours before the next trip just to be safe. . .

And, thankfully, I now have a full and final teaching schedule. I have a whopping nine class and will be teaching Sunday through Thursday. Fortunately, I won't have to lesson plan for all nine classes because it's basically nine sections of the same class. I will probably have to make minor adjustments for some, but it shouldn't be too bad. And as it turns out, I will indeed have each section for a full hour of conversation. Yesterday was the first day putting the schedule to the test, and both classes showed up on time. I guess next week will be the true stress test to see if all will go according to plan, but for now, things are definitely rolling along here in Zagazig.

On the First Day

Yesterday marked the first day of teaching for me. It went just about as I expected e.g. it didn't go as expected. But it wasn't bad either. Allow me to explain.

7:25am: My alarm goes off. It's game time. I go over lesson plans in the shower (and that's not a double entendre). I was told there will be two classes today: one of third years and one of fourth years, both from the School of Specific Education. I ponder what exactly students in this school study.

8:50am: Carl and I arrive at the Center, prepped and ready for our first class (set to begin at 9). Too bad the center wasn't even open. Great start.

9:05am: There are about 10 students who have shown up. Carl and I remain downstairs, not sure what room the classes will be in or what exactly we should be doing. We decide to go upstairs to the room where the students are.

9:10am: We learn that the fourth year students have not arrived yet. (The original plan was for all the students to arrive at one time. I would take the 3rd years for a one-hour conversation class, while Carl would take the 4th years for a one-hour writing class. We would then switch). Considering this, we decide the best option is to co-teach the class. Of course, we have not reviewed each other's lesson plans, so we laugh, shrug, and begin class.

9:15am: Class begins (right on Arab time, I might add). Carl and I introduce ourselves, talking about where we live, where we went to school, what we studied, etc. The 9 students in the class (8 girls, 1 guy) seem to be understanding fairly well.

9:20am: We then ask the students to go around and say their names. I immediately only remember a couple of them, compounded by the fact that I'm still unfamiliar with non-Western names. Names are followed by a writing exercise in which the students write a paragraph about themselves and then read it to the class. At this point, two other professors have joined the class to watch/learn for themselves.

9:35am: Continuing with the introduction theme, we then ask the students to work with a partner to find out certain information (where they are from, family, hobbies, etc.). They are instructed that they will then introduce their partner to the class. As it turns out, the students had no idea what they were supposed to be doing (not their fault--I probably wasn't speaking slowly enough). After I went from group to group, though, they picked up on the message. Carl worked with the lone guy in the class. Hopefully another bro will join so he can practice with another student.

9:45am: Quick review session of common mistakes. Everyone sort of let out that "Oh duh!" noise when I brought up some of the errors. This was encouraging, as they immediately recognized their mistakes.

9:55am: Carl assigns homework since we won't see the class again for two weeks (thanks, Fulbright trip to Siwa Oasis). We did the whole, "Now what is the homework?" question to see if they really understood. They did. Check and mate.

10:05am: Class dismissed. Maybe a little early, but it's only the first day (technically it's the last day of the third week of the semester, but who's counting?).

10:10am: We learn that the fourth years will not be coming today but on Tuesday, insha'allah (God willing). Naturally.

10:15am: Carl and I figure out that we might be co-teachers instead of each taking a class. We sit down at the desks confused, as there was previously this overarching question of who would teach conversation and who would teach writing. Regardless, I'm glad I made it through the first day.

10:15-12:00pm: Chillin' like villains at the Center until we decide we can go.

So, the first day was fairly uneventful with only a couple small bumps in the road. We learned more students would likely be joining the classes (pushing numbers to around the 20-25 range). And maybe we might co-teach. Or maybe not.

We'll find out soon enough. Insha'allah.  

On Zagazig

I finally have some time to talk a little bit about Zagazig and my time here thus far. The town itself is fairly small but certainly not a village. I've read that there are around 200,000 people in the city, but that statistic is nearly impossible to verify. And in Egypt, any area that isn't Cairo (bustling with 18 million+ people) seems rather small in comparison. Regardless of numbers, Carl and I are the only Americans teaching at the university and quite possibly the only foreigners living in the town. To put the lack of foreign contact here in perspective, when we say that we are teachers at the university, the first question that people ask is "Which university?" because we certainly cannot be teaching in Zagazig. While many are puzzled as to why we would teach here and not in Cairo or Alexandria, they are always pleased that we're in Zagazig.

While on the topic of Zagazigians (Zagazigites?), the people here have been more than welcoming. Everywhere we go, smiles and handshakes greet us. Several meals and taxi rides have been free of charge or paid for by others. Everyone wants to show us around (but not in that awkward Cairo sense whereby profit often motivates the gesture) and introduce us to all the important aspects of Zagazig. I feel like a local celebrity. Sometimes when I'm out walking, I imagine that there's at least a few people who are recording the "white people" sightings. Probably not, but maybe. . .

Also, and thankfully, the Cairo hustle is endemic to Cairo only. In fact, no one here says anything to Carl and me when we're out walking. The first night we were here, I was actually a little freaked out because no one was talking to us or trying to get us to buy anything. Refreshing, to say the least. I think only one person has stopped us to ask where we're from and if it was possible to migrate to the US. Carl had a short conversation with him in French (random) while I tried my best understand. It didn't last for very long, and both groups parted amiably. I guess only one stop after more than a week isn't too bad at all.

The English Center where we work is also quite nice. It's conveniently located near the main government building in town, so getting there is never an issue. There are about 20 teachers all told, but only about half of them seem to be in the center consistently. This may change, however, as classes haven't really begun. (Clarification: The semester started about two weeks ago, but that doesn't mean much. The first two or three weeks appear to be only nominally part of the term, as people don't actually go to class--professors included. So in theory more teachers could show up at the center in the next couple weeks). Everyone is always super excited when we walk in the door, offering handshakes and coffee/tea. Pretty laid-back atmosphere where everyone is excited to hear us speak English (because we speak like a dictionary) and we're equally excited to hear Arabic. We pretty much just chill everyday from 10am-2pm, either chatting with people or sitting in on other classes.

We haven't started teaching yet. The lists of the top students are still being compiled, and it could be another week (or two). Here's what we do know: I am teaching conversation, while Carl is teaching writing. There will be one class from each of the five schools of the university (so five classes per person). We are not sure whether there will be five classes of 3rd years and five classes of 4th years, so in theory it could be ten classes per person. But that number just sounds outrageous, so we're hoping it's combined 3rd and 4th years into only five classes. That in and of itself will be quite the teaching load. As someone without true teaching experience, I'm already nervous to do lesson plans and whatnot. But I'm teaching conversation, so I'm just gonna slang it up. My classes gon'be bangin' fo reelz. Kids won't know what hit 'em.

Finally, Carl and I moved into our apartment a couple days ago. We really got lucky because the place is really clean and really big. Apparently the owner likes to collect European furniture, so all the pieces are pretty fancy. There are three rooms, one and half baths, and a large living room/dining room combo. Of course there is a full kitchen and a washing machine. Two balconies and air conditioning complete the package. Plus there's a mini-super market (more like carry-out) and a couple restaurants near us. The landlords have been more than accommodating, making sure we have dishes/pots and have even given us the names of some local restaurants. Couldn't have asked for anything more. Here are pictures of the apartment. Hopefully soon I will remember to take my camera with me to get some pictures of the town and the center.

Well, that about wraps up my sermon for the day. Make checks payable to cash.

"The Others" & Orientation

In my downtime today I finally got around to uploading some pictures. First up is Coptic Cairo, or the block that Egypt cordoned off for people from the other side of the religious tracks. Unfortunately, I didn't spend much time in the area, but I did pass through the museum and had a quick stroll around the block. Many of the churches close pretty early, but the pics should give an overview of the area. For the historically inclined, this is supposedly the area where Moses was found by Pharaoh's daughter.

Next up are pictures from the in-country orientation. The commission took all the Fulbrighters to the embassy for a few informational sessions. The Ambassador was also on hand for a brief welcoming address. Of course, cameras weren't allowed in the embassy, so the pictures are from the Citadel. The complex was constructed under Saladin in the 12th century to protect the city from the Crusaders. The large mosque inside was built by Mohammad Ali (considered to be the founder of modern Cairo) in the early 1800s. The Citadel is quite literally a city on a hill, so there were some pretty amazing views from the top.

News about adventures in Zagazig forthcoming. In the meantime, I do want to point everyone's attention to the blog of another ETA here in Egypt. Eric is a great writer who tends to focus on comically dissecting the finer points of the Fulbright experience. Enjoy.

On to Zagazig

Tomorrow is the big day when I finally move to Zagazig. While I've been in Egypt (and in class) for the past month, I feel like my Fulbright really begins tomorrow. It's a bit hard to quantify my experience thus far in terms of accomplishments/productivity, but I think actually teaching will begin to solidify my time here.

After speaking to several Egyptians about their thoughts on Zagazig, I thought I'd share some of the responses. Probably a mixture of conjecture and half-truths, but here's the rundown:

1) Rural (some say underdeveloped)
2) Not much English

3) I hope your Arabic is good

4) Your Arabic will get good

5) Scenic
6) Don't go there (some say emphatically)
7) Historical (supposedly a stopping point during Pharaoh's attempt to expel the Jews)
8) Not much to do
9) No words--simply a shriveled bitter-beer face that screams "I'm terribly sorry"*

*Most oft-repeated response (generally used in combination with another one of the above, usually #5 to try and end the conversation on a positive note)

I'm looking forward to finding out for myself what this mystical town of Zagazig is all about. Fortunately, I am not scheduled to begin work until the middle of next week, so I'll have plenty of time to map out my surroundings. The university has already arranged temporary housing in the university guest house, which will give Carl and I time to find a place. I guess all I need to do now is relax and look forward to that fresh, non-Cairo air. . .

I also have a backlog of pictures of Coptic Cairo and our in-country orientation with the Ambassador to post. Look for those in the next couple days.

Dahab Part 3: The Goods

Aside from the transpo issues (excitement?), Dahab was actually a very chill place. I don't know what it is about beach cities, but it seems like no matter where you go, people always morph into beach bums. The Cairo hustle simply did not exist. There were definitely an overabundance of shops and restaurants, but any attempt at getting passersby to come in were easily combated with a "maybe later." Or the people were refreshingly honest. When walking by a massage parlor, one guy walked up to our group, and with huge smile half-yelled, "Who wants to spend some money!?" Great one-liner.

Competition was also intense due to so many places to eat. One night, we finally settled on one restaurant after an offer of nine free appetizers, 20% off our final bill, free dessert, and two free shishas. Even the standard 15 pound breakfasts could be bargained down to 10-12 if you waited a while. Unlike so many other places in Egypt, the invisible hand was moving.

My favorite spot in Dahab was the Blue Hole dive site. Apparently it's one of the best places in the world for diving and snorkeling. As soon as you get into the water, it's like being inside an issue of National Geographic. The reef lines the entire shore and fish are everywhere. I don't know if the fish are naturally inquisitive or just accustomed to people, but you could have easily grabbed one (or so I think you could). It was so awesome seeing clownfish in their natural habitat weaving in between sea anemones. The water was clear enough to see huge schools of fish below. I can only imagine how cool it was at any sort of depth, but I guess that would be an adventure for another time.

My other favorite aspect of Egypt so far has been ridiculous spelling mistakes. Unfortunately I didn't have a camera for the funniest ones, but they're worth mentioning.  A beachside restaurant was offering "Soft Dinkies" as one of the cold drink options for only 10 pounds. I wanted to ask what sizes the dinkies came in. The other hilarious one came from a Chinese restaurant (naturally). Right next to a picture of dumplings was the caption "Chinese Dumping." If people were in the mood for that option, they might not be after looking over the menu.

Other than that, it was a lot of sun-tanning and swimming. The usual suspects for any vacation.

Dahab Part 2: Pictures

Click here for pictures from Dahab. If I can find some shots from other people's cameras, I'll upload them later as well.

Dahab Part 1: On Transportation

The Bus

Transportation in Egypt is always a mixed bag. On the one hand, getting around is pretty cheap. Our roundtrip bus tickets from Cairo to Dahab and back cost $30. Not bad for about 800 miles of total travel, especially considering the roundabout way of getting to Dahab due to the mountainous interior of the Sinai Peninsula. (See the map for our general route. No compliments necessary--I know my Photoshop skills are top-notch).

But like most things, you get what you pay for. The bus ride to Dahab was a pretty miserable start to the vacation. About halfway through the 10 hour bus trip (2 hours of which were just getting out of Cairo), I felt as if someone was jabbing me in the gut with a screwdriver. Over and over again. To add to that fun, I had my first ever bout with motion sickness. Apparently our bus driver decided to hit every bump in the road. I may have been airborne at points. Combined with the generally zig-zag direction of the roads, I spent more time than I cared to in the bathroom of the bus.


Of course, the bus trip back had its own joys. I had the "good fortune" on the way back to get the seat directly across from the bathroom. I figured that one of two things could happen. Either this was a blessing because I wouldn't need to crawl over people to puke my brains out....OR....some other dude was going to be destroying the toilet and I would be the lucky one who gets to bask in the aftermath. About thirty seconds into the trip, I had my answer when a guy from two rows back hustled to the bathroom. He emerged a few minutes later, followed by a bouquet of fresh sickness. A few hours later, about two minutes after a rest break, he literally ran to the bathroom, but didn't quite make it, barfing all over the stairwell and bathroom door. This was all a few feet to my right. But don't worry, he made sure to splash some water over the mess to clean it up.

To make matters worse, the driver had a flawed sense of climate control that went something like this: "It's really hot, let's turn the AC up to full bore. *Minutes pass until it's freezing on the bus* Whoa...super cold now. Better turn it off. *Minutes pass until it feels like a sauna and everything feels sticky* Whoa...super hot now. Better start that process from the beginning." Maybe the only dials were freezing and sweating. It was almost comical how ridiculous the temperature variations were during the trip.

The only plus side to the trip was that the trip took only 7.5 hours to get back instead of the 10 hours it took to get there. Traffic was way better, and there was far less stopping at security checkpoints. I was thankful for the better efficiency the second time.

Mario Andretti of the Dunes


The hostel were stayed at was nice enough to arrange transportation to/from the bus station and to/from the Blue Hole dive site (more on that later). I can honestly say I have never been more scared in my entire life from these rides.

To begin, the Jeeps themselves were old. That wasn't a big deal in and of itself, but the tire tread on these cars was simply non-existant. If you could even find a groove to stick a penny in to measure the remaining tread, you deserved a prize. Even the "spare tire" on the back was bald. Granted there is no precipitation to worry about in Dahab, but the speeds at which these guys were driving didn't help.

The roads all looked like they were designed by Nintendo for a new Mario Kart game, and the workers from the hotel took full advantage. I half expected Yoshi to pop out or for bananas to shoot from our grill. The drivers just gunned the Jeeps everywhere. At one point on our way to the dive site, we were flying into a pretty sharp curve. The Jeep banked hard to one side to the point I was certain we were going to tip. One of the back tires lost traction (or didn't have it to begin with), squealed, then hit the curb. How nothing happened to the car (or us), I'm still not quite sure. After a brief, not so polite exchange with the driver, he chilled a little bit. But only a little.

And that was just the paved part of the trip. The road ended and in front of us stretched a half-rock, half sand expanse. We didn't seem to slow down. There was a trail of sorts, but it was (unnecessarily) curved with high banks. I don't know why they didn't just make it straight along the shoreline. So, we gripped the bars of the Jeep, enjoyed the complete lack of suspension, and prayed we didn't tip/run into another car/hit a camel/pop a tire/fall over a precipice. If anyone wasn't religious before that 20 minute ride, they were believers by the time we reached our destination. I was holding on so tight I could barely move my fingers when I finally let go.

But the whole thing only cost each person $6 round trip. Take that Cedar Point.

Haircut, Mustache, Holiday...O My!

So fresh and so clean--got my first haircut in Egypt today. There was very little communication, with the exception of a poor attempt to communicate desired length (by me of course) and the occasional Godfather-esque nod of approval at different points throughout the process. The barber was a pro though and knew how to handle his clippers. Best sub-$5 haircut I've ever had.

On a similar note, my "blaj-stache" has made it's first appearance in this world after one week of intense growing. For those less linguistically inclined, "blaj" is the word for beach in Egyptian Arabic (naturally deriving from the French word). Combined with the faux-aviators I bought today, I'm either ready to become a state highway patrol officer or shoot my first porno. I'm not sure which yet, but I will have plenty of time to decide while...

....I'm on holiday (as the locals say) in Dahab on the Sinai Peninsula. It's the end of Ramadan, and the next several days are known as the Feast. Everything shuts down in the country, and we're off from school from Wednesday until next Tuesday. By tomorrow morning, I'll be relaxing on the beach and swimming in the Red Sea. It's a tough life I lead, but someone's got to use those tax dollars effectively. Might as well be me. 

And don't worry, there will be plenty of pics of the blaj-stache once I get back. 

On Food

Maybe I was spoiled in Morocco. Maybe I haven't assumed the right mindset. Maybe I just love wings, burgers, and hotdogs too much. Whatever it is, I haven't yet come to truly enjoy Egyptian food. At this point, eating remains a pure necessity more than anything else. Sure, I enjoy the the 1 pound tamiyyahs as much as the next guy, and ful sandwiches with egg are pretty legit (and also a pound). But every time dinner time rolls around, I find myself flipping through my guide book looking for whatever sounds un-Egyptian. I guess I'm all humus'd out. 

With that being said, the nice thing about being in a big city is the plethora of options available. Last night, a few of us ventured into Zamalek to a place called Mezzaluna, largely the result of my hankering for some Italian food. (Pizzelles also sound great right now. Alas, we always crave what we don't have). The whole restaurant looked like an ad for Pier 1, enhanced by the great (and prompt) service. Nice change of pace from other establishments. I threw down a plate of mushroom-chicken pasta like it was my day job and washed it all down with two glasses of fresh-squeezed mango juice. My stomach did hurt after the meal, but it hurt so good. I had almost forgotten what it meant to over-eat.

Dinner time tonight. Where else would we go than a Thai restaurant in the heart of a Cairo suburb? I'm not usually a big fan of Thai food, but this place was excellent. I managed to down a plate of sweet and spicy chicken and noodles. The Thai iced tea wasn't the best, but I can't complain too much. Any meal in which I don't have to do work in the next half hour is a-okay in my book. Plus, this sign was posted behind our table. So health conscious. 

I'm sure one day I'll conquer Egyptian cuisine. One ful sandwich at a time--and maybe with the help of some Ranch dressing. . . 

al-Azhar and Whirling Dirvishes

Monday night, our professors at AUC were gracious enough to take us Fulbrighters out to explore up-all-night Cairo. We took a cab and headed to Old Cairo, the location of the famous Khan al-Khalili market and  al-Azhar Mosque, widely considered to be the center of Sunni Islamic learning as well as host to the second oldest university in the world. It was founded around AD 970, so it was quite a feeling to be in the midst of such a historical institution.

With it being Ramadan, the crowds were out in full force. After fasting from before dawn to sunset, Egyptians take full advantage of the night to fill up on dinner and a host of sweets. People generally stay up to all hours eating and spending time with family and friends. The bustling streets, stores, and restaurants are an amazing sight, and one can feel the joy in the air. Good times all around. I myself tried several dishes, my favorite being similar to rice pudding--only milkier and with crushed nuts. I probably could have eaten a couple pounds of the stuff. We also got some tea and shisha (water pipe) at a local cafe. Our big group of Americans stood out like a sore thumb, but the workers enjoyed having us visit their shop. The line of people trying to sell us goods while we were there became almost comical. The item of the night was wallets. After a while, I started to think the wallet factory was next door. Their tenacity, however, was laudable. If at first you don't succeed, try try again. And try they did.

We were also fortunate enough to attend a cultural show that featured whirling dirvishes, thus named for their ability to spin for extended periods of time. One of the "whirlers" must have spun for a good 20 minutes. I felt myself getting sick and holding my breath after a while just watching him. When he finally stopped, he didn't even flinch or wobble. Amazing. This spinning is also a Sufi (mystical Islam) religious activity, whereby the whirlers are said to enter a trance-like state and achieve a closer one-ness with God. Any way you "spin" it, it was pretty cool to watch. Of course, there were several musicians that accompanied the show, including horn and percussion performances. The music definitely reinforced my desire to take tabla (drum) lessons when I finally get to Zagazig. 

We didn't get back til late, but that's the norm now. When in Rome Cairo. . .

Black Honey

Wednesday night the Fulbright crew decided to put our newfound dialect skills to the test and see an Egyptian movie. We decided to see a comedy called Black Honey, featuring the famous movie star Ahmed Helmy. (I know everyone will know exactly who I'm referring to). We bought our tickets, and also got several warnings from the ushers that the movie was in Arabic only without subtitles. I don't see how a group of white kids seemed out of place in the theater....

The movie itself was about an Egyptian/American who returns to Egypt and eventually gets his passport stolen (thus having to stay in Egypt). It showed the challenges of someone readjusting to the Egyptian way of life (noise, traffic, smog, lack of technology, etc). Most of the scenes were pretty light-hearted and fun, although the over-acting got a bit obnoxious after a while. Worth the $6 I paid to get in though.

The theater was was nice, although the sound at points reminded me of a broken speaker at a McDonald's drive thru window. I think most, if not everyone, was able to follow along with each scene and get the general point of everything. I myself understood a considerable amount the first half of the movie. The second half was more touch-and-go, but I still got the main point. Pretty cool considering we've been here for only a week.

One thing that was different from American movies was the intermission. About halfway through, the movie stopped, and the lights came on. There was about a ten minute break for people to use the restroom and refill on snacks. Smart business decision if you ask me.

All in all, a good way to get a new experience. First Egyptian movie in the bag.

Cairo Hustle

As all can tell from the pictures, last Saturday we decided to go to the Pyramids. They're definitely awe-inspiring, and I was able to climb to the top of the largest one to see where the Pharaoh was entombed. No cameras were allowed, but the guy at the top did say we could take pictures with cell phones. There seems to be a disconnect when it comes to official Pyramid policy. No surprises there. Why?

Simple answer: backsheesh. The is what Eric (another Fulbright ETA) has termed the "Cairo hustle." Millions of Egyptians live on less than $2 a day--a difficult situation for anyone, let alone those trying to feed a family. As a result, many people depend on "backsheesh," or tipping. Usually it's only a couple pounds here and there, but it adds up after a while. There are pros: We were able to get get the student price for tickets to the Pyramids by paying  a guy to get our tickets for us. Still saved money, but it shows the underground economy. Then we had to "tip" the big-man at the security checkpoint who questioned our student tickets. After some haggling he let us in for a cool 15 pounds. To be honest, I'm not even sure he worked for the government or had any real affiliation with the Pyramids other than positioning himself by the door. 

The "hustle" continues. A man approached Eric and I with kufiyahs (male head covering) in hand. I waved him off, as I didn't want to buy one. He looked at me and then stated "No money. For Ramadan." So I thought he was being nice. He opened the package and wrapped it around my head. He did the same for Eric. He then offered to take our picture. Still no talk of money. When he got down off the Pyramids, he suddenly became less charitable and began the backsheesh process. I eventually gave him an American dollar, and Eric gave him a few pounds. He wanted more--in fact he requested "paper money." After getting no where in 100 degree heat, we pulled off the kufiyahs and walked away. There's no free lunch.

And to return to the policy [in]coordination amongst Pyramid workers: The man at the top of the Pyramid, who has the delightful job of being stuck in a less-than-ventilated, musty hole (did I mention the lack of light?) has to make a living too. Allowing pictures means a little extra backsheesh for him, which he certainly asked. We didn't take pictures, but we did tip. 

It's all a part of the game. Play on, playas.

P.S. The guys monitoring the entrance to the Pyramid also skirted the rules. The normal price (for non-Arabs) is 100 pounds (about 20 USD). They charged 200 pounds to people who happened to walk up and inquire as to how to get in. There needs to be a discussion with them about supply, demand, and pricing, but the point is that no matter where you turn, someone's looking for a little extra. But you gotta do what you gotta do to put food on the table. Welcome to "This Egyptian Life."  

Hotel and Pyramids Pictures

After a long day, I'm really too tired to talk. Here are some links to pictures so far though.

Shepheard Hotel in Cairo

Gaza Pyramids

I uploaded the original size photos, so if you wanna see anything in larger format, you can download the pictures to your computer. There's a download button when you click on a picture near the top of the screen.

Hopefully I'll be able to update everyone tomorrow on the trip.

Arrival

After a 10+ hour flight, I finally made it to Cairo. I was lucky enough to have exit row seating, but unlucky enough to have exit row seating next to the bathroom. The constant stream of people, aromas, and lights made sleeping difficult. Oh well--it's all part of the experience. And Delta didn't lose my luggage this time, so no complaints.

Walking out of the airport was like walking into another world. The heat, melody of car horns, and sheer amount of people in Cairo make Casablanca look like a walk in the park. (For those of you unawares, Cairo is the biggest city in Africa--and Europe for that matter). The ride to the hotel was like being on the world's best and worst roller coaster. I can't believe we didn't hit something/someone or get hit ourselves. Lanes and speed limits mean nothing. There might be 3 lanes and 6 cars all juggling for road superiority. I will definitely record a video of Cairo driving for all to see.

The hotel couldn't be better. I've managed to get a single, so I've got plenty of space to unwind. It's also facing the Nile River, so the view is out of this world. The hotel was the former headquarters of Napoleon Bonaparte, so there's some history here. Winston Churchill was also a distinguished guest. The Fulbright Commission is taking great care of us here during out first month in Cairo.

We did eat dinner at a swank Lebanese restaurant called Taboula (a little ironic on our first night in Egypt). Food was great, cheap, and filling. It was nice to get out and experience some night life. Hookahs (water pipes) were going full blast and Arab music filled the background.

I'm planning on going to see the Pyramids tomorrow. I'll also include pictures in tomorrow's post. Too tired to do anything camera-related tonight. Or any other typing/thinking for that matter.

Over and out.

For Artur: I can't describe how smelly it is in Cairo. Ribbit.

Packed and Ready

I just spent the better part of yesterday and this morning packing. I think I'm finally all ready to head out--but only after a couple trips to the post office to make sure my bags were under weight. Packing for such a long time away from home was quite an exercise in balancing having enough stuff and not getting dinged on excess baggage fees.

Next post will be from Cairo. Barring any delays, I will arrive at 3pm Friday after a lengthy flight from JFK. But I have exit row seating, so the flight will at least be comfortable.

Misr Masr Misr Masr Oy Oy Oy!

Update: Ten minutes after talking about delays, I find out my flight is pushed back. Go figure. Now I have a hefty layover at JFK. Should be touching down in Cairo around 6:15pm. No more talk of delays...

Nitty Gritty

Well, it's gettin' to be about that time when I have to skip on over to Egypt to begin my Fulbright. Since I'm going to be gone for so long, I figured starting a blog would be an easy way to keep people up-to-date with my exploits in the country. I will most likely start a Flickr account as well to upload pictures. Stay tuned for more details on that front.

As for the title of the blog, I figured an ode to Rob Schneider's old SNL skit was somehow in order-- albeit with an Arab flair. The Richmeister's take on makin' copies remains a classic bit. Qahawa is the Arabic word for coffee, a word somehow more fitting than office talk. At the very least, it'll be a reminder to keep my sense of humor.

Finally, in keeping with the legal requirements from the State Department: This blog is not an official website of the United States government / Fulbright Commission nor does it represent the views of the U.S. Department of State.

That about wraps things up for now. Over and out.