Random notes and the crazy ass taxi driver

One thing we are learning while living in Egypt is the art of flexibility and that time is only a state of mind. Back in the states if I drove anywhere-be it across town, up to LA, through the Rocky Mountains, pretty much any destination, I could accurately calculate the amount of time it will take to get from point A to point B. It just comes down to a simple formula of time, distance, and speed. I've discontinued this tried and true formula almost six months ago. Donkey carts, traffic jams, fruit vendors, pedestrians, are now factored into the equation, but more importantly the trump card of them all is the phrase “inshallah” (lit. God willing).

A Sunday's fisherman

I went to the hospital a couple of weeks ago for a minor lung infection, the doctor gave me some medication and told me “you should be better in a week… inshallah .“ I don’t know about you, but when you visit a doctor you want to leave filled with optimism and not factor fatalism into your recovery. What if your relationship with God has been a little rocky and then your hear that you’ll only get better if God wills it. This kind of news doesn’t give you much hope. Maybe God will allow you get better only to get run over by a donkey cart transporting steroid sized cauliflower a week after you’re on the mend. There is a dicho that reads “If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.”

Sidi Bisher

Speaking of getting hit by moving vehicles, last night was a rare taxi ride. You could say our driver was a bit hyper focused on getting us to our destination operating under the instructions “kill them all, let God sort ‘em out.” If you have seen old footage of the big wave surfers and how they reach out and touch the waves they are riding-as to establish some sort of organic connection; to become one with it. That was sort of like our driver, but substitute waves for other cars on the road as he touched at least a dozen or so while weaving in and out of traffic, perhaps it was an act of pushing them out of the way. I was fortunate enough to have access to an “oh shit!” handle to grab on to for the majority of the ride, and I bet commuters in the cars next to us held on to theirs. The icing was when he would yell at other drivers after cutting them off and making them almost crash. As fate would have it, a pedestrian did make the error in assuming that our cab was going to stop or slow down and allow him to cross the street. That was wishful thinking. The impact was minimal, but it was enough to upset the man who stood back up and walked over to give our driver a piece of mind. Instead the victim was reprimanded. The guy then tried to get into the front seat and was pushed off as the cabby. Happy Valentine’s Day to you sir!

Flier on the street

Valentine’s Day dinner was more like a Thanksgiving meal. The kitchen staff made us a delicious turkey with all the fixings including red wine. Afterwards we attended a Rotary Club sponsored VD fundraiser concert at the Bibliotheca. The two hour event featured an orchestra, vocalists, and choir performances. I have to say I was a little thrown off by the two John Denver numbers “Annie’s Song” and “Perhaps Love” all that was missing was shag carpet and wood panel walls to give it the full-on 70’s effect. The Denver songs were just a teaser to wet our appetite for Francis Lai’s “Love Story” and Barbara Streisand’s “Tell Him” I thought about walking over to coat check to see if they had a bullet with my name on it. The meat and potatoes of the event were the musician and the conductor who constantly turned to the audience to show disapproval to the endless chatter. The French and Arabic songs were the best of the bunch and the crowd favorites. Overall it was quite an enjoyable evening.

Hops hops hops

Huck Finn and I brewed our last batch of Islamic Pale Ale this weekend. It is tradition to sample our previous efforts while grooming the predecessor. Our choice this time around is based off Russian River’s Pliny of Elder. We added over a pound of hops hoping to push the IBU (International Bitterness Units) well past 100. Our Green Flash West Coast IPA clone is about history, sigh.

Huck Finn pouring the medicine

It doesn't get any better than this

We saw our first dead cat on the road and that is pretty remarkable. On average, once we leave the compound we encounter at least 50 cats in any given outing. You think I'm exaggerating? Bite your tongue and back off! There is no truer statement in that the streets in Alex are littered with felines, hell our campus has a sizable army of them. They do provide useful services such as rodent control and sex education for the kiddies.

Turning 41 in Kuwait

I might as well write something about my visit to Kuwait City since the experience is still fresh in my head. Kuwait could be considered a softer version of Saudi Arabia with the anti-pork, porn, and alcohol laws. This year’s Senior Fine Arts EMAC (Eastern Mediterranean Activities Conference) was hosted by the American International School (AIS-Kuwait City, Kuwait) and in attendance was Dubai American Academy (DAA-Dubai, United Arab Emirates), American Community School (ACS-Beirut, Lebanon), and Schultz American School (SAS-Alexandria, Egypt). This would be the first of two EMAC trips this year. In April, Ana and I will travel to Dubai for Jr. Fine Arts.

Marwan showing off just one of his amazing talents

The way the conference works is that each school brings 20 students in addition to 3 coaches (teachers) to a hosting school. The visiting students will stay with a local family and coaches with another teacher and/or a school administrator.

Our departing day started with a slight change of airports. The original idea was to fly out of Alexandria; instead we were diverted to one on a military compound about an hour southwest of the city. The line getting into the airport is on par with that of an Egyptian supermarket; if you feel a sense of entitlement then you get to cut in front of everyone else. We weren’t always successful in holding our ground as a few people slipped through our human wall. I put a pair of tenth grade students (Marwan and Abdo) in charge of getting our boarding passes and taking care of the visa matters since they are pros at the process.

Once past customs, everyone headed to the duty free shop to buy gifts for their host families and I followed suit. My host would be receiving a bottle of contraband. When the time came we all piled on a bus and rode to the middle of the desert to board the plane. I tried to sweet talk the flight attendants into letting me sit first class since it was my birthday, my suggestion didn’t pan out in my favor as my initial window seat was changed to sitting between to two men who each dumped on a bottle of cologne before boarding. I’ll be sure to fail the student who stole my seat!      

When everyone still liked each other

We arrived in Kuwait City only to wait another hour to buy the remaining visas and to hunt down luggage. In the meantime, a student managed to drop her milkshake on the floor and proceeded to look at it for a few minutes, nope it wasn't going to pick itself up. As for the bottle of wine I had brought for my host, I managed to get through customs the first time but when we had to go back to look for our luggage I was nabbed and reprimanded. I asked the customs official if he was going to take the bottle home and drink it and he replied, “yes” from what I learned later that evening is that confiscated alcohol is usually given to the police to be sold on the streets. Sounds like a great racket to supplement the income.

The drama crazies

Two of the three amazing drama teachers I worked with

When we arrived at the school, the students were farmed out to their host families and I was delivered to mine. I was fortunate to be staying with the high school principal Blair Lee, his wife Kim and their two boys. All the visiting teachers and some of the admin went over to their place for a home cooked Thai meal, both the company and the food were excellent, everyone was very sympathetic to the bottle of wine that could have been. I met up with my students later for a nightcap of Pepsi, Red bull, chocolate, and coffee at an outdoor café situated on the Arabian Gulf (note: calling it the Persian Gulf is fighting words in these parts, sort of like saying “Israel” when the correct term is “occupied Palestine” just goes to show you that political correctness is worldwide).

The hard(ly) working Schutz team

My new favorite sign

The Lee family was quite nice and gave me a key to their house so I could come and go as I pleased. I learned a lot about the culture, they had been residents of Kuwait for 6 years and had stories to tell. Accidents caused by speeding are a huge problem; the question is not “if” you get into accident it is “when” so they bought an SUV as their first line of defense. Flipped over car accidents are the sights to see as all the Kuwaitis get out of their cars to help flip the car back over. The roads did feel rather aggressive as I survived a couple of near hits in my taxi outings.

non-alcohol Bud-epic failure

The first morning of EMAC started with a tie-dye shirt activity where students had to first go around with a marker and write messages on the backs of other people’s conference shirts. Of course a couple of our suave male students took the opportunity to jot down their phone numbers and other shameless forms of flirtation. (I later learned that the concept of "hooking up" is totaled by the number of hugs they can get, the more hugs, the more of a stud you are) Later we broke off into our discipline areas and in drama we filled the remainder of the morning with icebreaker activities. After lunch we were sent with our groups (one student from each school) to work on a section of a play that Mr. Brown (the host drama teacher) had wanted drama to perform. It was called “The Hare Who Wanted to Be A Man.” A fine play it was. 

Some of Kuwait's crazy looking buildings

I have to say that I was quite proud of my group, we all worked hard and weren’t afraid to try unconventional ideas in creating an original interpretation of our play’s section. Our practice area was in an aerobics room filled with giant exercise balls and when we needed a break we pounded the crap out of each other dodge ball style. I even took delight in throwing oranges at the kids trying to make them fall off the bouncy balls. One of my students mentioned that she had Rice Krispies treats in her bag (BTW she is a full-on sugar addict) and I tired to bounce over to her bag to steal one and fell flat on butt. The worst part is she won’t let me live it down.

Sign outside a mosque

Our day usually stated at 8 am and ended twelve hours later. There were outings such as a field trips to the mall (Kuwait is littered with them) and to the souk. My evenings were spent with the Schutz kids, you’d figured that we’d be sick of each other company, but that was hardly the case. Our school is like a family (for better or worse) and they were kind enough to invite me to tag along with them…with that said you could say that no matter where we went trouble ensued when the bill arrived. Establishments feel like they could take advantage of a large groups teenagers by over charging us. Most places were rude and the final night at Sakura Japanese restaurant was epic to the point where I stood up and looked for the hidden camera, I was convinced that we were being filmed for an episode of Punk’d. Abdo was charged $40 for his Pepsi while I was charged $35 for a bowl of miso soup and a side salad. The manager “Victor” (yes, that is his real name, I even asked him where he got his name from) said that there was a minimum charge and that the price included everything on the menu except for beverages, so we all ordered more food only to be told that “we ran out of that” and “the kitchen will close in 10 minutes,” it was one excuse after another. It came to the point of being absurd where literally everyone in the restaurant was laughing hysterically; from the students, to the other patrons, to the staff…everyone was on board for this rare collective outburst. In my paranoid state I kept looking over my shoulder and poked my fork through the ice cream looking for hidden razor blades as I thought Victor hired an assassin to take me down. I told my students “if I die tonight, you’ll know why.” When we finally settled the bill Victor had the audacity to assume that we would be coming back and promised that our next visit would be a better experience, I politely assured him that we wouldn’t be returning. We camped out at our table well past closing reflecting on the conference and other matters while nibbling on our ice cream with the full wait staff staring us down.  

The infamous Kuwait Towers

Every country I have visited thus far I’ve picked up a cap to add to my dad’s extensive collection and Kuwait was no exception. I found a stall that had what I needed and a lady customer was impressed that I was buying some souvenirs of her country and she refused to let me pay. She told the shopkeeper that whatever I wanted was to be charged to her. I politely declined her generous offer, but she insisted and created a little goodie bag for me since I clearly didn’t pick out enough items. The best of the bunch were the button ribbon combo with pictures of Kuwait’s various kings. Could this have been the long overdue thanks for Operation Desert Storm…sorry that was another attempt at a joke in poor taste. 

 

Mosque by the school

The final gala event commenced with an art installation piece and tribal drum beats as the students broke out of their giant box and sprinkled glitter on everything within a ten-mile radius. The choir group followed with a nice diverse selection of songs. Drama was up next and the transition from one group to the next was seamless. The band ended the evening with their unique version of  “My Favorite Things;” the theme of the conference. The dinner was catered and it was the realization that the fun was coming to an end. I had met some amazing kids and adults and wished that it could go on for just a little bit longer. Mrs. Brown, the event organizer, the go-to person, the supplier of plug adapters and almonds and Ritz crackers, and the all around heart and soul of the conference really pulled it off. I said my farewells and walked back to the Lees exhausted and drained.

Mr. Greg!!!

The flight home was uneventful though we almost left a couple of girls behind at the airport because they were on their own time schedule. I'm sure Greg (the other coach) would have waited for them, he is much nicer and more forgiving than me. The 4 hour bus trip back from Cairo was the nail in the coffin. 

Marrakech-Morocco adventure part two

At least we can say the manager of the Oum Palace Hotel threatened to call the police on us when we tried to check out. A potential problem with booking a hotel room on-line is that you don’t always know exactly what type of room you are getting. I had booked three rooms for the six of us and the hotel argued that all three were booked as single rooms. One confirmation form did verify this and we were willing to pay the difference. As for the other two rooms there was some gray area in that the booking didn’t specify as to how many guests could occupy the room. In short, there was an extra charge for our spouses that we had to cough up at the end or else we would have missed our train to Marrakech, in addition to the police threat. When we paid, Dean said the management all high-fived each other.

The three-hour train ride to Marrakech was a pleasant one. The landscape was surprisingly lush and picturesque even the locals in our six-person compartment were nice enough to chat with us. When we arrived, Joseph and Lianne had booked four nights in the Medina and were off. Dean and Michele had secured our accommodations through a friend who is connected to the owner of Hotel Toulousain (in Gueliz-about a 15 minute walk outside the Medina) where we would spend our first two nights. The hotel was simple, comfortable, and in retrospect, the ideal place to stay in Marrakech. Hassan, the owner related a story to Michele and Dean regarding punk rock legends The Clash, this of course caught my interests. The story is that Hassan’s cousin Cherif in New York City owns 17 (name of the restaurant) and one day in the late 70’s auditioned the Clash to play at his establishment. Cherif “didn’t appreciate” the style of music played and was blunt in telling the band. In response the Clash wrote “Cherif don’t like it, F**k the Kasbah.” And as Paul Harvey would say "That my friends is the rest of the story."

I was also wearing my Casbah hoodie

A trip to Morocco would be incomplete without a visit to a hammam (think bathhouse as in a Turkish bath). Hassan’s wife, Malin booked us an afternoon session at a local spot outside the city limits in an aspiring suburb. The experience started off with changing into a skimpy towel and sitting on heated marble steps in the sauna room for thirty minutes to begin the initial exfoliation process. At some point the heat becomes suffocating which leads to the next step where the Speedo wearing guy in the next room places you on a marble slab and goes to work scrubbing you down with a sandpaper-like glove in addition to pulling some pro wrestling moves disguised as a massage that makes you squeal like a pig. These men take great joy in the art of torture. The session ended with a cold shower to seal the pores. When all was said and done, our skin did feel remarkably softer.

The tranquil Jardin Majorelle

On the third day we left Hotel Toulousain for a pre-paid riad in the Medina. We followed the instructions as stated on our printout until the point where we had to hire a tout to guide us through the maze of alleyways. When we arrived, it felt like a big letdown, the ambiance is a work in progress, the building is desperately begging for someone to bring out its’ character. The few scattered partially deflated party balloons attached to the railings hardly suffice as interior decoration. Our room was spacious and the drawers to the cabinets were filled with random pieces of hardware and undergarments, though there was ample room for our items. The owner was away on holiday so he left his housekeeper in charge, she prepared our daily breakfast of mint tea (with a touch of mystery spice and perhaps a dash of Palmolive for the suds) and rustic bread sprinkled with anise seed. Our two nights there were quiet and peaceful.

Our riad in the Medina

The remarkable quality about the Medina in Marrakech is that it can be simultaneously experienced by all the senses. The main square Place Jemaa el-Fina by day is filled with snake charmers, monkeys, scammers, fresh juice carts, musicians, henna artists, and so on. The evening ups the ante with the arrival of the portable restaurants and their teams of aggressive recruiters who will literally push you into their stall. I admit it is a tall order to try to ignore the aromas of fresh grilled food, but Michele, Dean, Ana, and I weren’t exactly converted by the offerings of our meal. The souks and stalls in the Medina are a shopper’s paradise and serve the useful function of getting lost and disorientation. As tempting as it is to get caught up in the buying frenzy of exotic souvenirs, we ended up with a tasty bag of black olives for under a buck. So much for our bid for “consumer of the year” title.

Place Jemaa el-Fina at sunset

The snakes of Place Jemaa el-Fina

Joseph and Lianne scored a righteous riad in the residential area of the Medina a good hike away from all the commotion. There was talk about having New Years Eve dinner at their place but in the end the idea didn’t materialize. We did manage to find a last-minute festive location on the top floor of a boutique hotel to welcome in the New Year. For a very modest price the night consisted of a 3-course dinner, bottomless Moroccan rose vino, a swinging live Berber music trio, and a multi-level cake with lit sparklers. It was quite an enjoyable evening.

New Years Eve

It has been documented

The space between the glass and spout adds flavor to the tea 

Our initial plan for the remainder of the trip was to head north to the imperial city of Fez then up to Tangier. Ana and I decided that we had our fill, as in met our quota of vacationing in areas with a heavy concentrations of people. We scrapped our northbound plans for a little R & R on the Atlantic coast, a short three-hour bus ride west. That is how we spent our first day of 2010.

Casablanca-not the movie

I believe my oldest brother’s all-time favorite film is Casablanca and Ana and I finally gotten around to seeing it for our first time just a little over a month ago. I reckon 40 years is better late than never. Morocco is a destination Ana and I talked about visiting one day, mainly based on the food and a couple of documentaries we had seen. We figured that the opportunity was right especially since we would be traveling with friends. 

You can buy these masks back in Egypt!

I have been keeping a running tab of stores and companies that I absolutely loathe and I have to say that Egypt Air is the newest addition. They are seldom punctual and not very forthcoming about information. Once we boarded our two-hour late flight was when the real adventure started. The first incident of the evening was between two males that involved a seat being in the reclined position.  There was some shoving but mostly yelling and while other passengers kept the two parties apart with some heave petting trying to calm down the two aggressors, the flight attendants offered little assistance in resolving the matter. I bet if this happened on a flight back in the states there would have been homeland security waiting on the ground ready to arrest people. Being on an Egyptian Air flight during landing is also quite an experience as it is never a good sign when you hear the un-clicking of the safety belts when the plane first hits the tarmac. This action is usually followed by people trying to stand up and race towards the front to be the first one off the plane to go wait 45 minutes for luggage that may or may not show-up. I know this is wrong, but I secretly laugh when those people stumble or their bags fall on them as they get them out from the overheads...I wish I was exaggerating. At the gate, several people from the back tried to cut their way to the front and I didn't appreciate this. Why I chose this battle is beyond me, I was just caught up in the moment. Apparently I stood between a woman and her habibi (male lover) and this caused quite a stir, enough to get other passengers involved. They were upset and I just kept telling them "you're not special; you need to wait your turn like everyone else." I became a joke and was taunted to an extent. Once we got towards the front of the plane habibi pushed me to the side then stopped right as we were exiting the plane to make me wait. I told him, I had all night and he gave me one last little shove that is when I took him and threw him into the first row of chairs. The flight attendants just looked at each other and gave me a little bit of extra space to get off the plane; maybe they thought they were next! I did have a few passengers come up to tell me that I did the right thing. We did see the lady again when we were in the line for customs, she was in the back and came up towards the front and I asked her if she was going to try and cut the line again. She just smiled and said "no" returning back to her lover.

Across from the Central Market

I think his parents dress him up to make money

After spending 4 nights in Cairo it was nice to be in a city with cleaner air. We stayed at the Oum Palace Hotel in the city's center, about a 5-minute walk to the Medina (old city). Lianne talked us into a walking tour suggested by her travel book. We started off at the Central Market and had a gander at the fresh produce, meats, and flowers; I even managed to buy some fake saffron! Welcome to Morocco. The Art Deco buildings and the Mauresque architecture (a blend of French-colonial and Moroccan style) are an amazing sight, as the city is filled with them.  We stopped by the Place Mohammed V; a giant square with a fountain surrounded by government buildings and a cool looking clock tower. We continued our stroll to the massive white Cathédrale du Sacré Coeur (Sacre-Coeur Cathedral). The structure had seen better days thought it looks like it still functions as an occasional cultural arts center and exhibition space. Our explorations made us hungry so Joseph, Lianne, Ana, and I decided to try the little hole in the wall eatery outside the Central Market. Their tajines (A traditional North African clay pot) looked appetizing and we ordered a variety of dishes. This would be one of the more memorable meals of the trip.

Cathédrale du Sacré Coeur (Sacre-Coeur Cathedral)

Tajines from where we ate!

Streets of Casablanca

Lianne thought the four of us should follow up the nice meal with Moroccan mint tea and dessert at Squala Café Maure on the edge of the Medina, good call. Afterwards we cut through the maze of streets in the Medina. Ana and I spent some time combing through the markets, being solicited by touts offering to help you find what you are looking for. Chasing people off can be such a pill.

The outer wall of the (old) Medina

Young???

Dinner was spent at the toros (bullfighting) themed La Bodega de Casablanca under the advice of Joseph and Lianne. The tapas were right on, except for the chuck of blue cheese that remained on the plate at the end of the evening, at one point it became a dare. The plan following dinner was to head down to Rick's Café (yes, the one "inspiried" by the movie Casablanca) to meet up with Dean and Michele for a nightcap. The place sort of lost its' charm once we found out how phony bologna it was, I consider it a blessing that it was at capacity and with no reservation propelled us to call it an evening.

The best thing about Rick's was Auto Service place next door

The night was young so I headed back down to the hotel lobby to write in my journal which at one point I thought it might exciting to venture out to one of the bars a couple of blocks over. I walked down the stairs to a lively all-old man crowd pouring down 8 oz bottles of Flag Speciale beer. Most patrons had tables covered with empty bottles while the twenty-something bar maiden with a dangling cigarette kept them coming to the sounds old-time Arabic music coming out of the jukebox.  I started a small collection of bottles and cranked out a couple of pages until I started to gag on the cigarette smoke. There is a stark contrast between the streets of downtown Casablanca during the day and at night. You can say I hurried back to the hotel not stopping to pet the stray dogs or chatting with strangers in darkened doorways. Tomorrow Marrakech bound.

The Cairo Leg

One could possibly predict if there will be a Swine Flu outbreak on our campus simply by looking at the master calendar to see when the next visiting author is scheduled to appear. In Michele Serros case she did fare better than Tom Palmer in that she at least had a handful of students in the audience, as to say her presentation was intimate.

Our reward at 3 pm on our last day of school was the 20-minute secret Santa gift exchange followed by the six-hour Death March of Bataan bus ride to Cairo. Getting to Cairo is never as easy as it should be, I'm just some new kid on the block, naïve on the most basic level in thinking that there exists some formula, path, or whatever to get into that city in a timely manner. Even something foolproof like a train will just stop on a track and sit for God knows how long. The 18 of us on the bus all had our own destinations. The first batch was dropped off at Novotel, the hotel across from the airport famous for their high water pressure showers, rumor has it that our teachers like to take multiple showers during their overnight stay. The second group was New York City bound and they were released in front of their terminal. Dean, Michele, Ana, and I were scheduled for the next drop-off at a bargain hotel in downtown Cairo. It's just a room, right? All we are going to do is sleep in it and for $20 per/night it can't be that bad and it wasn't, but mosquitoes and polyurethane is a cocktail that shouldn't be mixed. We paid our monies and Michele, Ana, and I caught a cab over to Zamalek with the plan of hitting the handful of hotels we knew searching for a room. Our two initial options failed, we were eventually referred to the President and upon walking into the lobby we run into Linroy (our school's Tech guy) and his wife at the desk checking in. What luck. We scored a room then hightailed it back in a taxi to our first hotel only to find Dean high as a kite from the fumes with someone's used chewing gum attached to the hair of his forearms, I thought it was customary for classy hotels put a welcome chocolates on the pillow, but this is over the top. To add insult to injury, the elevator didn't work so we lug or bags down several flights of uneven and broken stairs passing dark floors with people sleeping in cardboard boxes to catch a cab. The fun ended slumber party style at 2 am with the four of us crammed into a 2-person room and every time hospitality knocked on our door to deliver extra towels, Dean's assignment was to hide behind the curtains. This would go down as one of the more memorable nights on our trip. 

Glob of used chewing gum

Our mission this trip was to play tourist. The Egyptian Museum was first on the list. We decided to walk from our hotel across the Nile to where we ran into the museum's "botanical director" on his lunch break who was kind enough to let us know that the facility wasn't open to the public yet, just to schools and tour groups and that we should go kill some time at the "government operated souvenir shop" across the way. He escorted us through traffic to what was probably his family's store. Welcome to Egypt.

The two-floor museum was cluttered and packed with history, tourists, and mummies. The artifacts were impressive. Michele was the only one brave enough to pay the admission to enter the Royal Mummy Room. Sadly the staff adheres to the strict no camera policy. We discovered the grounds provide excellent people watching opportunities. It's always fun to see westerners attempt to wear turbans and hijabs, it’s almost as cool as wearing a giant sombrero in Tijuana.

 Michele working trying out some dust jacket ideas 

Our next quest was to find the Whirling Dervishes, which meant heading over to Islamic Cairo to find the al-Ghouri Complex; a three-story cultural center with a courtyard theater where they perform bi-weekly. The nature of Whirling Dervishes dance ritual is a religious ceremony but fits nicely with the performing arts. The dancers are said to be members of the Mawlaiyya sect of Sufis, a mystic order of the Islamic faith. There was no actual line to get in, just a clump of people who resorted to pushing and shoving once the doors opened. This naturally led to some altercations and near fistfights. The show started with a line of musicians playing and jerking their bodies and heads to a hypnotic rhythm that set the tone for the evening. Twenty minutes into the show the dancers joined the musicians and dazzled the crowd for over an hour. One dancer spun his body continuously for nearly thirty minutes. He was obviously transcended the moment. The awe of this evening ranks right up there with seeing the Butthole Surfers back in 85' when they played with two naked fire-handling chicks dancing in front of graphic black and white highway accident prevention films. Both left an impression in their own way.

 

Taping wasn't allowed

Christmas eve would be devoted a day of shopping at the Khan al-Khalili which really didn't amount to much on the consumer side of things but we sure did browse quite a bit. People have remarked how crazy the Khan is and it is kind of like a junior version of the Great Bazaar in Istanbul but we would soon learn and graduate to a more intensive shopping experience a week later in Morocco. As an early Christmas gift Dean ate some bad falafel, poor guy. Welcome to Egypt, again. Ana, Michele and I headed over to the Cairo Opera House to score tickets to The Nutcracker. It was sold out but we bought tickets from people who had extras. I had to rent a tie and worse yet tuck in my shirt. Thankfully the camera was left at home. The ballet was nice and any venue that has an orchestra pit scores extra points in my book. A well spent $7.

Dean is one crazy foo

For Christmas we hired Mohamed (Linroy's driver) for our Giza experience. He explained to us the ins and outs to avoid being scammed by the touts at the Pyramids. I was reading a couple of stories the other day that the Pyramids were not built by slaves but by volunteers. Seriously…really, you think so? Personally I think it’s hard enough to find a friend who is willing to give up a Saturday morning to help you move. Ok, I've been hemming and hawing about going to see the damn things and it wasn't so bad. They were actually mind blowing. Then I remembered that aliens built them and I felt much better. How can we say we evolved as a species if we don't have the technology and precision to construct pyramids or the temples like in Baalbek. Its monuments like these that help you realize your insignificance. I realized that if there ever was an advantage to having light skin in Egypt, the Pyramids was the place to have it, it entitled you to free reign of climbing on them as you wished. The tourist police chased-off all the locals. Maybe it is built in through the cost of the ticket, Arabs pay 40 cents (2 pounds) and foreigners have to cough up $12 (60 pounds). Thank God the Sphinx and KFC were right down the hill.

Crazy dog making friends

Built by free labor

Mohamed drove us to the less-crowded Saqqara to experience the step pyramids. Outside the gate a tourist cop pulled our car over to bully us for lunch money. He asked Mohamed for all his credentials and all he really need was 5 Egyptian pounds so he paid him and off we went. He told us that’s how things operate in his line of work.

Step Pyramids

Little did we know that there was a secret watering hole beneath our hotel called the Cairo Cellar, the English style pub serves up a mean burger and draft beer set to a soundtrack of oldies. The lighting is dim, warm, and cozy…the perfect way to end a hectic day.

Our Cairo adventure came to an end when Mohamed drove us to the airport to meet Joseph and Lianne, the six of us Morocco bound.  

Waiting out the slight delay

Happy New Year

Happy belated New Year! Ana and I returned from Morocco last week only to catch a cold, it was most likely weather related, but for the record I'd like to say it was the famous Moroccan curse that one of the disgruntled passangers/witches on our flight put on us. Lucky us (Joseph, Lianne, Ana, and I) had the Casablanca to Cairo redeye that couldn't meet our scheduled 6:45 am landing thanks to a thick layer of fog so we got a little taste of the fine airport facilities in Luxor. As a bonus I discovered that people like to burn trash there just as much as they do in Alex and Cairo, at least poor air quality is fashionable country wide.

Mandatory Pyramid Photo

While on the ground, Egypt Air allowed us to stretch out in the terminal, which doubled as a playpen for unsupervised monsters to run amok. As inviting as the outlet on the wall looked to charge my Ipod, I should have gone with my gut instinct and declined. As fate would have it one of the unruly brats ran into the charger and pulled the cord out of the wall breaking the adapter and leaving live exposed metal in the outlet. The bruja (mother figure) didn't exactly reprimand her children but more or less told me to complain to the Egypt Air since it was their fault that this happened. I can appreciate her strategy on this incident, instead of taking responsibility her tactic was to say something absurd and make a quick getaway while I was struck in awe processing her asinine comment. So using her brand of logic I'm blaming her for my cold because she put a curse on me, and the airline is at fault too but I haven't concocted a suitable story yet.

Whirling Dervishes in Cairo

Our time in Luxor was cut short by the clearing fog. We were all herded back onto our plane for the one-hour flight to meet our tired driver who had been awake for as long as we have.  His task was to take us 3 plus hours north, Joseph was smart and bought him a large coffee. The voyage back to our beds was uncontested. 

Mystery structure at Saqqara  

More stories and pictures about our adventure to Cairo and Morocco to follow.