Walk Like an Egyptian (Part 1a)

We had the nice couple, that went to the Citadel with us, over for dinner. The ones whose son lives about two blocks away. And they've had us over to their home for a cookout.
As we waited at the airport in Cairo, for our luggage and our group to assemble, we chatted easily. Travel interests and family expanded our circle of common interests past the coincidence of geography. Sharing the threat of imminent death from the cab ride to and from the Citadel, that evening, bonded us as survivors.
The four of us are planning a trip to Machu Picchu in April of 2009.

The next day (12/8/07) started early. Really, really early. 2:30am wake-up call early. We needed to catch a flight to Luxor. Standing in the airport waiting room for our flight's departure, we struck up a conversation with a woman traveling with her daughter, a flight attendant. We learned that the security at the Cairo airport was lax. I did get through with an opened bottle of water, although at 3:30 in the morning Cairo time, security wasn't foremost on my mind. We boarded the plane and landed without incident in Luxor.

We checked in at our cruise ship for our trip up the Nile - SERIOUSLY! The boat was smallish, and there were close to a million of them! Our cabin was small, clean, and well maintained. Onto the tour bus! Then the day began in earnest! Our guide was a scholarly Egyptian women with a wealth of knowledge and experience. We began at the Valley of the Kings, and the Valley of the Queens. These are the excavated tombs of the Pharaohs and their wives. A couple of thousand years old, this was the burial custom when pyramids became passe. It seems that the ancient Egyptians spent their whole lives planning and preparing for their deaths. This preoccupation with the afterlife makes perfect sense in a society with a vital belief system. Imagine what "Christians" could accomplish if they really took their faith seriously.

Now, the obligatory stop at the local trade establishment to unload some of that desirable American currency! Today it was an alabaster "factory". We did buy an urn. The salesman was very persuasive, patting Tall One's "belly" and remarking, "We are the same!". I apparently have very beautiful eyes. So beautiful, in fact, that we were given the alabaster bowl we picked out for "free", and two "free" alabaster necklaces. No one was fooling anyone, but it was fun, and we do treasure our souvenirs.

On to the temple of Queen Hatshepsut at Deir-el-Bahri. This queen was actually Pharaoh for about 22 years. Her mortuary temple has been restored to a much larger degree than the other ruins we saw, something like 60% restored/30% original. A huge building with columns and statues, and the actual remains of a mighty cedar, one of a pair that Hatshepsut had brought from Lebanon and replanted.

We made a stop at the "Colossi of Memnon". Two gigantic seated figures of Pharaoh Amenhotep III, out in the middle of nowhere. Very cool, very huge, very old. After this, we crossed from the West bank of the Nile, in a very small boat, to the East bank. West relates to death, thus all the tombs and mortuaries. The East is life, so we were preparing to see some Temples. We saw our first camels! I really like camels!

That afternoon, we saw Karnak temple, and after dark went onto Luxor temple, which was amazing and beautiful all lit up, with sphinxes lining the broad avenue leading up to the entrance. Karnak is the most intact temple, with each element of design and construction represented. It is incomprehensible that the colors used in decorating these temples and tombs is still visible and vivid. Everywhere we drove, not just at the archaeological sites, there is evidence of excavation. Pieces of buildings and statues piled everywhere. We walked back to the boat. It's rather jarring to see such antiquity next to McDonald's.

The vendors are relentless. They deserve their own post. We ate our meals on the cruise boat. Lots and lots of vegetables, which is normally great with me, but everything was flavorless, nothing noteworthy except for the pita bread, which was excellent. Even in a Muslim country, we managed to procure a nightcap in the ship's lounge.

News?

I'm mad at the "news". Mad in the disgusted sense that an old person has toward a young, enthusiastic, utterly naive, irresponsible, single minded, radical. You just wish they'd sit down and shut up - even if you agree with them. They are just so smug and full of themselves.

I'm really disgruntled over the "real person" interviews ubiquitously interspersed through the cause or sensational crisis reports of the day. Yesterday morning it was the single of mother of two who has to resort to a food bank for the first time to make ends meet. She has a "real job" so she's too affluent to qualify for government assistance. (collective ohhhhh) Her family would go hungry if she didn't demean herself and join the local give-away....or two. (sniff, sniff, blow nose) Bad, bad government for not providing for this unfortunate woman and her family. Bad, bad, bad. Bad President for creating this awful economic downturn. (boo, boo, hisssss) Poor, pathetic mother. Sad, deprived children. (sobbing)

I, personally, am all in favor of food banks and think that people in need should take advantage of them. I think this mother should take advantage of this wonderful, philanthropic, privately run, charitable enterprise. This could have been a positive story. This mother could have said how grateful she was for the community support. She could be an example of the responsible use of charity. An encouragement to others who are "struggling". How proud she should be for working hard to provide for her family instead of relying on government handouts. And, how gratified the people who supply and staff this resource should feel for being able to help.

But, no. Let's just put the worst possible spin on this situation in order to make a point. Is this even journalism? I'm thinking more along the lines of emotional blackmailing propaganda....

Ok, now we come to the report on teen pregnancy. This is not good. Does anyone disagree? Case study: A school somewhere (could be any one of any number across the U.S.) has a higher than normal percentage of high school girls that are "with child". Camera shot of a 30 something woman. Sound bite: "Some of these girls aren't even seniors, they're under 18. They can't even buy their own cigarettes, and they're having babies." I don't even know the ultimate point of this story. My head swiveled so quickly I got one of those shooting pains right up the back and until it finally subsided and I stopped choking on the coffee I had spewed out in my absolute incredulous disbelief, they were into the weather. "...they're under 18. They can't even buy their own cigarettes, and they're having babies." Let's break this down. And remember, I'm fully aware that this does not apply to every pregnant girl in this school.
1. Underage girls smoke.
2. Underage girls smoke and they are pregnant.
3. They are underage so they cannot legally buy cigarettes.
4. Someone that is legal is buying underage, pregnant girls cigarettes. And these girls are smoking them.
5. How stupid is this woman for using this analogy? And, if she's a parent of one of these girls......

Do I have to rant on? Do you see how stupefied I am? Is this a credible person expressing a credible opinion on an incredibly complex and troubling social problem? Understanding that they are talking about children having children, the responsible, unbiased, news media couldn't have found a better spokes person? Even a biased spokesperson with an ounce of sense?

Ok, and one more before I go...how incredibly insensitive is it to interview parents that have just lost children, children whose parents have been killed, pregnant women whose husbands have died, grieving families who have lost everything... Do people really tune in to specifically watch this, or do we just get sucked in while waiting for the local traffic reports?

Heat stroke....

Today is hot, well not so hot, but humid. One of the first really humid days. Soon the weather forecasters will be preoccupied with "ozone action days", "dew points", and the "heat index". We're not turning on the air conditioning. Mark my words, Tall One will have to be here and uncomfortable before I get permission. I think it's an endurance test. I'm tough. But, I felt badly about putting the grandsons in for their naps in the rain forest upstairs.

We have a "whole house fan". True to it's name, it sucks the hot air from outside through the hot house and out of the ceiling. But, it's squeaking...annoyingly. How long before my nerves are shredded and I throw the flag pole we use as a sliding-glass-door lock up between the blades? We have two ceiling fans that do a passable service of helping to regulate the temperature year round between the floors (hot air rises, did you know?). So it's equally hot everywhere in the summer, and equally cold in the winter. Hooray! I've only got four windows with screens. Sigh. There are more screens in the basement, but we've never taken the time or put forth the effort to figure out which windows, if any, they fit. Because, usually, we just turn on the air conditioning!

It's again with the saving money thing!

One thing I am having a hard time doing. Consolidating my errands. I try to do things locally. Then I can walk if time's not a factor. But, today I had to go to the pet store and it's really at an out-of-the-way location. I thought I was going to have to make a stop at Walmart for Nana, and I mistakenly mentioned a "road trip" to the grandsons. So when the mission for Nana fell through, I was stuck with two little boys shrieking for fish! I couldn't disappoint, so I had to make the trip...and "waste" gas by not combining my errands. The cat needs food, it's prescription from the vet (long story for another post). I go right past the vet on my way to the grocery store. I don't want to do the grocery shopping until later in the week. I'm hoping the food lasts, otherwise, it's two trips and tons of environmentalist quilt (or a stopped up cat, peeing everywhere, and tons of guilt-guilt, plus huge vet bills...wait!, the silver lining and justification for a separate trip!).

Tall One and I just ate on the deck. It's massively cooler out there than in here. Tall One magnanimously fixed the squeaky fan before dinner, but when we came back inside, under the threat of a immense thunder storm, the fan is now chirping like a demented bird....and Tall One can't hear it! (Or won't acknowledge it. Either way its past ANNOYING!) I have a phone call into Daughter, she'll have to referee...and how demeaning is that?

Well, Daughter just called and can't hear the bird over the phone...great! Tomorrow is another day, and if the fan's still singing, I will be vindicated! But, now, I have to worry about Tall One's hearing, and apparently his sight, too. I asked him to watch the sliding glass door, to close it if it started raining in, and a few moments ago, I had to leave this very important post and close the door....because, he said, he didn't know it was raining so hard! The rug is wet and the satellite has no signal, how much harder does it have to pour?

Viva Fiesta!

I love my fiesta ware. It makes me happy...on many levels.

I had been talking about collecting it for years. Every time Daughter and I would walk through a department store, I would stop and gaze lovingly at the multicolored displays, so on my 50th birthday, Daughter bought me my first piece, a peacock blue pitcher. She was sick and tired of hearing about "someday", and thought it would give everyone the opportunity to buy me gifts I would really like, appreciate and use. You know how that is? She wanted to avoid any repeat of the "great-pig-gift-orgy", the "lesser-chicken-gift-glut", and the large donations to Goodwill after every birthday and major holiday. I have a shamrock colored serving bowl from Grammy. An antique pedestal bowl in yellow was a gift from MomMom. Two special friends, who happen to be sisters, bought me compote dishes in scarlet and peacock, and a fruit bowl in sunflower. Nana, who has bought me the majority, is the keeper of the fiesta ware gift registry. She has a record of every piece I now own, and she coordinates and delegates to other givers the appropriate purchases. It allows her to participate.

Most of the colors are represented, my dishes are a riot of variety! My cabinet doors have glass panes so the rainbow shines through. I don't have a favorite, but Daughter does. I save the sunflower mug for her. In addition to place settings, mugs, and a few serving pieces like bowls and a bread plate, I have salt and pepper shakers, a butter dish, a little container for artificial sweetener packets, and even a spoon rest, and I haven't even begun to scratch the surface of available inventory!

Tall One and I have begun to eat dinner together at the table instead of in front of the t.v. This is due mostly to a renewed interest in food after our trip to Greece, but the fiesta ware helps make it a celebration. It's fun to cook and present food in a pleasing fashion. I light candles. It's an event.

Coffee brings me comfort in the same way I imagine the British have tea. It's not the taste, or the caffeine, although those are nice benefits, it's the ritual. I like the familiarity of brewing. Most pots I make without thinking, but there's a process; cold water to the proper level, grounds measured according to taste and placed in the filter that's been arranged in it's spot.Turn on the coffee maker and listen for the distinctive sound of the automatic drip. I add the fat-free half-&-half to the cup first, and then pour in the hot coffee. It saves the step of stirring. I love the feel of the warm cup in my hands. And the bonus is the brilliant hue of the fiesta ware mug!

I'm reminded to find joy in objects usually taken for granted, appreciate the familiar people, make ordinary moments special, and acknowledge the rituals that provide me a sense of security.

Not bad for a set of dishes.

Write or Not.

I was remarking to a friend the other day, that I'm using this blog as a practice ground, disciplining myself to write, publish, and accept that there may be someone reading this someday. Someone that isn't a friend and doesn't love me. Someone with an unbiased opinion, someone that will take what I write at face value, not knowing me. What I have written will stand by itself, or not. That is almost as scary as sending this address to people that I love and care about and inviting them to read what I've written. Their opinion is biased. They take what I write and incorporate what they know, all their observations and preconceived ideas of me, and add my writing to that, or add that to my writing.....I think.....Maybe I'm too sensitive....Or not sensitive enough.

I also confessed that what I've written so far of my "Excellent Adventures" isn't very deep or personal. I've offered some anecdotes, some editorial ideas, fluffy surface stuff. There's been a whole lot more going on.

Some of it's on Word documents on my desktop. Some of it has taken the form of a fiction novel, the very beginnings of a fiction novel, the teeny tiny first stirrings of a potential novel. How do you go about writing a fiction novel? Do you make an outline, or just start writing and see what comes out? I can barely remember what I've written a sentence from now, what'll I do with Chapters? Will I have to write it all in one sitting? Does the idea just evolve from an unformed vague concept? I'm not so sure I can even make real people seem three dimensional on paper, let alone manufacture character and personality. And I just may be boring. Or unintelligible.

So, how long can I go before I write something of substance. Something that touches the deep, secret parts of my psyche...you know, those desires, convictions and feelings we believe to be unique but really aren't because the human experience is essentially the same for everyone, just tweaked. Circumstances are the stuff of legend. Coincidences can be so clever, or cliche. Shouldn't I know the difference between a fable and a fairy tale? And poetry honestly escapes me. I like Shel Silverstein and Dr. Seuss, but really as much as I revere Shakespeare, his sonnets are just too damn much work! Do I really have anything worth saying that's worth reading? Dear God, what if 2000 years from now, something of mine endures and someone tries to ascribe universal meaning to my narcissistic ramblings? Will I ever have a truly memorable sound bite?

This is a lot of responsibility. Or, just maybe, it's totally irresponsible. I'm having fun putting words on paper. I really DON'T care if anyone ever reads this. And while I want to be adored, at the end of the day, it really doesn't matter what ANYONE thinks. Not even me. Or especially me.

So time is short. Maybe I ought to take a writing course....or will that just ruin everything?

Walking Like an Egyptian (Part 1)

The reason I started this blog was to begin recording the memoirs of trips Tall One and I began taking in 2002. I was going to backtrack from our trip to Egypt last December (2007). I thought at the time I set up this blog, that I would be posting live from Cairo. (We did email some close friends and family members. Just to let them know we were alive. Some of them were worried.) Well, I got sidetracked, lost the blog, found the blog, revamped my initial vision, and here I am. But, I should tell you about our trip to Egypt. Just not all at once.

I'm a good flyer. I love airplanes. Aren't airplanes miraculous? I haven't lost the wonder of something that big and that heavy leaving the ground for extended periods of time and great distances and then coming back down on a specifically designated short stretch of concrete. Of course, I have a problem comprehending three point turns with a Chrysler. I have short legs, so any seat works. If we don't get a bulkhead or exit seat, we need the aisle seat (ie. Tall One). This is not a problem on flights with three seats, because we are always over the wing! No view anyway, and I only have to crawl over Tall One for the bathroom. I never watch a whole in-flight movie. I'm not sure why. Maybe the small screens? I can't hear well, my ears close immediately after take off and don't open again till the drums explode on landing. I really like to read. The food is always interesting, if inedible.

I love airports, too. I've never been in an airport that I didn't find completely enthralling. Delays, problems, bumped off flights - all provide the opportunity to bond with the duty-free shops. I like to buy "snacks". I try to find something that incorporates the grazing sensation with the most benefits for the least amount of calories. I have learned so much reading the nutrition information! I have only bought one book in an airport. I usually take along sure-fire, no-brainer, easy reading, but I made a mistake once and had to buy an emergency fix. Even so, I always take time to peruse the book racks. I don't do magazines, I save them for the John.

So Egypt was a long flight. I forget if it was direct, but I'd say so. I remember hanging at the airport in Cairo waiting for our luggage. We started talking with a couple, who, it turns out, has a son that lives about a block from us; they live a stones throw West of us. This was a trip of coincidences. They seemed very nice, interesting, so we asked if they'd like to share a taxi to the Citadel after we checked in at our hotel. Sure.

The taxi ride is half the fun. Tall One and I are fascinated with foreign traffic. And Cairo is foreign traffic, straight up, with a twist. The traffic lanes are well marked and the traffic signals work. Everyone just ignores them. There are four marked lanes heading in the direction we are traveling, however, there are six or seven actual lanes of traffic. They use driveways, sidewalks, berms, virtually any unoccupied space to more forward. And we're traveling at an obscene pace. Every single cab, car, truck, and motorcycle is damaged, dented and/or scratched. Tall One is giddy with fear, and I just feel like a dog with his head out the window, enjoying the sheer delight of being alive! This is what it's like to be in a video game, actually in, not a player. We're weaving, passing, stopping short, swerving, melding, and merging. I'm taking pictures out the window, and the driver, in addition to driving, is keeping up a running commentary in Egyptlish. We're passing "The City of the Dead". We express interest. The driver pulls to the side and stops. Did I mention the traffic? We are tourists! Ignoring the potential for personal harm, we get out and take more pictures! It is worth the risk. These are not blurred beyond recognition.

"The City of the Dead" is built on and among the tombs of the dear departed. Families live on top of the graves. The markers are intact. This is so far removed from suburbia. We arrive at the Citadel. It's a Citadel, with the Mohammad Ali mosque in the middle. No, not that Mohammad Ali. The Citadel is cool, and impressive, but what interests us is the reaction of the school girls we encounter. They seek out the contact. They practice their English with us. One ties my scarf over my head, in their fashion, as I enter the Mosque. They like American actors, Brad Pitt. The young boys want us to take their pictures. The older boys are probably mocking us in Arabic, aloof, cocky. We're there till after dark. The Citadel closes and we walk the neighborhood, taking pictures of chickens, cats, and women hanging wash out of their windows. We're chased out by an emaciated old man and a toothless old woman, waving their hands, "Go, go, Citadel is closed!" Our cab returns at the designated time and place, our relief is palpable (this is literary license, I've felt more threatened in center city Philadelphia), and with gratitude and good humor for our whole and safe return (I'm talking about the cab ride), we end our first night eating outside at the hotel restaurant.