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.