So, as I’m being driven off by my first Egyptian friend who, at this point, I’m sure is taking me to the bowls of some construction site in order to dismember me slow beneath a photo of Moosavi Khomeini I think to myself, “oh my god. I step out of the airport and into the Middle East and I’m going to be some depressing headline back home in less then 24 hours.” Of course this was pure naivety on my part, he simply wanted to rip off a stupid American. When I insisted that I wasn’t going to pay him 200 USD and he finally believed me, I found myself dumped on the side of some Cairo underpass. After close to 24 hours worth of traveling this was the last place I hoped to find myself with a seventy pounds of luggage. I proceeded to drag my ass through the fever that is 2 PM in Egypt, back to the airport with all my stuff, insistent on taking a bus this time. However, waterless I quickly realized that that wasn’t happening. So, out of pure desperation I flagged down another taxi. This time I decided to go with pissed off and stern, “how much to Mustafa Khamil Square,” I said in English being thoroughly done practicing my Arabic for the day. “I don’t know, I have meter” the taxi driver replied. Having no interest in really ending up beneath that photo of Khomeini or getting totally ripped off I repeat, “how much?!” “About 20 minutes from here… maybe 12USD.” So, I smile put my bags in the back seat and let the sun melt me into the plastic covered passenger seat of Khalid’s taxi.
I watched my first view of the Middle East whirl past me in a near sun stroked daze as Khalid asked, “you have habibati jamila, beautiful American?” “As pretty as the come” I replied. We go back and forth in a half Arabic half English conversation that, to my surprise, allowed for some decent discussion. As terrifying as my first taxi experience was this was calming.
Unfortunately, Khalid wasn’t familiar with my specific hotel so I had him drop me off at a traffic circle two blocks from the Pension Roma. And even more unfortunately, I walked two blocks in the wrong direction and in turn four back in the dirtiest and most dilapidated place I’d ever seem. But, Al-humdu Allah or thank God I finally arrived before the rickety old elevator, circa 1920, which took me to the fourth floor were my hotel was. At this point I’d been awake for like 36 hours and was about to collapse. I’ll I could think was, “if this place isn’t legit, I’m going to the closest five star hotel and blowing as much of my study abroad money as necessary to sleep, in a room with a bed and more important then either of those two things, AC.” Luckily, the place was great, the receptionist was a kind old French lady who gave me a liter of water and showed me my Spartan but perfect room. I took off my clothes, blasted the AC and collapsed.
Day 2 in Cairo and although I was excited to get out and see what I had come to see, I must admit it took a little self convincing to walk out of my air conditioned sanctuary and into the madness. I ate the free breakfast at the hotel, baby steps. Bread with fig jam, a hard-boiled egg, and coffee was all I got and was somehow the standard by which every hotel/hostel in Egypt operates. After, finishing I stocked up on water and headed out to Ramses Train Station in order to book a sleeping train ticket which would take me too Luxor in a few days. I did this first because I thought, after the “intricacies” of my arrival, an established way out of Cairo would allow me to enjoy my experience a little more. I left the hotel at what I thought was 8 AM but what turned out to be actually 7, because German flight attendants don’t understand Ramadan which pushes the clocks back in the ME an hour. I expected to find the same pulsing mob of my arrival but was pleasantly greeted by empty streets. I guess no one is particularly anxious to begin a long, hot day of fasting and I don’t blame them. I had decided over my hard-boiled egg that I was going to figure out the metro system, which is extensive and invaluable, if your going to avoid taxi drivers whenever possible. The first time I went to buy a ticket the attendant took my 5EGP note and gave me my ticket. He had of course, sticking with the theme of Egypt, ripped me off because after some further observation I realized the really price was 1 EGP. The price I paid the rest of my stay. You get screwed and you learn, Egyptians proved to be great teachers in that way. Anyway, I rode the subway a few stops with a bunch of sweaty Arab guys before jumping off at the metro stop next to the station.
As I came up the stairs, I found myself in a busy park across the street from Ramses and a beautiful towering mosque. However, the wonder of it all was slightly offset by the poverty that encircled it. Children and elderly alike were sprawled out across the grass. Groups of younger boys were huddled together trying to stave off another day of the heat and hustle. Those that were awake were trying to hawk cheap clothes and sunglasses from their business fronts that consisted of either a tarp or large piece of cardboard which could be easily dragged, I suppose, to another street or corner of the park deemed more affluent or profitable. Occasionally I’d see some guy running full speed down the street dragging his merchandise behind him.
The sleeping train office opened at 9 and unfortunately I ended up with an hour and a half wait after finding out the actual time from the old man selling newspapers outside the train station. So I wandered. It was time spent doing this that I found out the most about Egypt, not at the pyramids or museums but in the streets with the people who are doing real things. So, in this hour of wandering I learned that in Egypt “under construction” means broken and likely to stay that way. Stairways are missing steps, which simply crumble under the tide of 20 million people’s lives. Road signs fade in the sun and are useless anyway because unless you live there you’re not navigating the maze by street names anyway. Even the train station that, according to my guidebook, is a flawless melding of Islamic and industrial architecture has piles of rumble lounging around out front of it, leftovers from some previous construction project.
The reservation office opened 30 minutes late and the attendant informed me that Abela sleeping trains wouldn’t accept my newly exchanged Egyptian pounds but wanted US dollars from all foreigners. He suggested I find an ATM. So, I walked around for another half an hour until I located one, only to find out that all ATMs in Egypt give EGPs not USD. And since it was Friday all banks would be closed for exchange until Sunday. I headed back to the train office with my explanation worked out in Arabic. However, this time the same man made no reference to USD, allowing me to pay in EGP no problem. This is Egypt. By this time its 11 AM and 100 degrees, so I decided to start my sight seeing at the Egypt National Museum, which I wrongly assumed was air conditioned.
The museum is the first building I encounter not “under construction.” It’s massive and a beautiful red color with a garden to greet the massive swarms of tourist out front of it. The staff allows you to take just about anything you want inside, except for a camera, which you are forced to check at some shady office. When I went to give the attendant my camera I asked, “how much?” And was meet with the response, “whatever you want to pay.” At this point I’m thinking, “I want to pay however much is necessary to get back my camera back.” But there is a massive line behind so I give 5 EGP and remind the guy that I need number.
When you first walk into the museum your greeted by an absolutely massive statue of Ramses II and his wife, which rise up at least three stories. The lay out of the whole place is supposedly chronological. This is only half true because the massive amount of items result in something more like an overwhelming heap of history. I loved it. I wandered by myself, with no guide and found some items described in English while others remained a mystery in French, Dutch, German or any other number of languages. All the celebrities of Egyptian history were there King Tut’s golden mask, Nefertiti’s likeness in stone, Ptolemaic coins with Alexander the Great’s face imprinted on them. However, what I found to be the most memorable, albeit cliché, were the mummies. There was one section dedicated to the mummified remains of the pharaoh’s favorite animals, which included a 20 foot 3000 year old crocodile, baboons, dogs, cats, and beetles. Nevertheless, it was the human remains that I won’t ever forget. To stare into the face of Ramses the II or the Boy King Tut is truly a strange experience. In some ways it feels wrong, these people are the dead on parade and I hope my decaying corpse never becomes a must-see attraction. But aside from this, the experience is a real morality check. These men and women were Gods in their day, the most powerful people in the ancient world and now there is nothing left but an emaciated heap of dust held together by embalming wrap. Strangely enough, I’m extremely hungry after this point and decide to leave, after over five hours of old stuff, in order to find a meal in a city of 20 million fasting people.
This turned out to be dammed near impossible for me. Most local restaurants were closed or were only beginning to open and refused to serve me until dark… and after just a hard-boiled egg for breakfast I was sure I couldn’t make it until then. After doing a zombie walk around old Cairo for an hour and a half I found myself standing before those golden arches. This was the last place I wanted to enjoy my first meal in the ME, but alas it was air conditioned and willing to feed me. I was depressed by this, but at least they had soccer on.
The rest of the day I spent just wandering around the city, enjoying the madness of the cross-cutting alleys, dizzying and deadly traffic, and millions and millions and millions of people. It seems like every other store sold clothes or perfume/potions but no one seemed to be buying. I walk past a Synagogue about three blocks from my hotel that was fortified by more then a dozen guards with assault rifles standing behind blast shield, a HMV with a mounted machine gun, and alternating concrete and metal blockages. It was at this point that I realized that the four or five soldiers/policemen that stood guard on every single city block weren’t just there because Mubarak is trying to hide the massive amount of unemployment in country.
