Over and Out

The months and days are wayfarers of a hundred generations, and the years that come and go are also travelers. [1] Those who float all their lives on a boat or reach their old age leading a horse by the bit make travel out of each day and inhabit travel. Many in the past also died while traveling. [2] In which year it was I do not recall, but I, too, began to be lured by the wind like a fragmentary cloud and have since been unable to resist wanderlust, roaming out to the seashores. Last fall, I swept aside old cobwebs in my dilapidated hut in Fukagawa, [3] and soon the year came to a close; as spring began and haze rose in the sky, I longed to walk beyond Shirakawa Barrier [4] and, possessed and deranged by the distracting deity [5] and enticed by the guardian deity of the road, I was unable to concentrate on anything. In the end I mended the rips in my pants, replaced hat strings, and, the moment I gave a moxa treatment to my kneecaps, I thought of the moon over Matsushima. [6] I gave my living quarters to someone and moved into Sampu's villa.

Matsuo Basho in Oku no Hosomichi or Basho's Narrow Road to the Interior
1689

One of my favorite passages from one of my favorite books. I wasn't merely entrenching myself abroad, but traveling, which may lie at the core of the adventure. I think it sums up my experiences well. And even challenges thereafter (I had the pleasure of a lengthy Q&A with two Homeland Security officers this afternoon, seriously. They seemed to have serious issues with my having been in Egypt and my reasoning for study there...)

Yet alas the adventures of Egypt have come to an end as a Boeing 767 touched down at Logan this afternoon. I would like to put forth a sincere thank you to everyone who has visited and interacted with my blog over the course of the summer. I would like to give infinite thanks to my dad and mum for allowing their daughter to spend a summer in the Middle East, something most parents would deem, um...very unwise. And a profound and warming thank you to all of the friends, family, acquaintances and teachers who provided encouragement and assistance in making this possible. Thank you not merely in the months building to my departure, but during the course of the last three years which undoubtedly had an impact on this journey which was not in a vacuum, but symbolic of rising in uncertain times. You know who you are. You know what you’ve done. And I thank you.

Milan to Boston, quite a long flight. Nine hours is fine. But the momentum of homeward significantly grinds and extends the process. I had the pleasure of sharing a row with two other people who had not been back home in the States for weeks or months, and although cynical at times, thankful for the home to which they were returning. Our perception varied tremendously from those around us. And we binded to shield ourselves from that glare.

And I have yet not to see a cabin erupt into applause as the plane touches down on American soil in the post 9/11 world. Today was no different. But I'd like to think for a moment, the cheering, the clapping, were different today. All different for me.

Milan Malpensa around 9am local time. Valentino, not fake leather camels. In addition to the highest of the high end, even a Ferrari racing store selling red hats for a 120 euro. They're really just red hats, trust me. I never understood duty free in the first place. Decent savings possible, but really, do you NEED a Toblerone bar the size of a cinder block? And might there be something wrong with a picture which involves you purchasing cigarettes tax-free in bulk? And how much perfume does a single person need before they start smelling like a fresh Vanity Fair (in a bad way)? And surely, is all the cognac and whiskey out of necessity, or an urgent sense of responsibility to reap the savings?

Milan or Seoul? Seoul or Milan? If I hung around this gate long enough, think I could sneak in? Escape to Korea?

Duty free hall at Cairo International Airport around 2am. Look how exciting! Considering the nation's reliance on tourism, it was like a parking garage with suspicious men selling gold chains and leather camel dolls. Swarming with Saudis when I arrived, as flights for Jeddah and Riyadh neared. Serious money. Silver clips bearing massive wads of cash. Oil money. Real time.

Near midnight...Cairo's last whirl

Ma'salama

Airborne once more. This evening I will depart the dormitories at 11:15pm in a black E-series Benz provided by the school for 60LE, quite reasonable, for Cairo International Airport. Layover in Milan. "Ticket" touchdown at Logan 1:15pm. Let's calculate for a second--if I leave the dorms at 11:15pm, and there is a seven hour time difference between Boston and Cairo, I'll be leaving at 4:15pm Boston time. 4:15pm to 1:15pm. That's a glorious 21 hours in-transit. But these are 21 hours I anticipate enjoying immensely. Even the grueling and frightful facets of travel I find to be enthralling and amusing. Sure, when I stopped-over at Roma Fiucimino (I think I just murdered the spelling on that) airport in June, I exited the aircraft, the only one apparent with a connecting flight, and dashed through the maze of terminals, obligatory railway trams to other terminals, security and a range of employees conspicuously devoid of English skills. When I arrived at the appropriate gate, that was when I stood there feeling like five year-old with their backpack, clearly not "lost" but feeling misplaced a giant airport awaiting a plane for a mysterious land. To make matters worse, the extended delaying and re-delaying of the flight along with a terminal so crowded I was huddled with my backpack sipping diet Coke leaning between a check-in counter and glass wall was a tad nerve wracking. A flight bound for the Middle East is not the flight you want to have extensive delays upon for no clear reason. But I am calm and collected.

My flight technically departs at 4:15am from Cairo. As do nearly all flights bound for Europe, in order to connect with midday flights to North America. However, under the insistence of the AUC travel office and what appears government policy, I actually need my engines moving to the airport about four hours before hand. Security, judging by what it's like in the city, must be ridiculous at the airport. I am not complaining, surely no. I hope I won't have to pay customs duties on this laptop either. Apparently sporadic enforcement of electronic customs occurs, and since nobody "declares" such items any more, the Egyptians are at an advantage to drain you of your remaining money. Actually, they request it in US dollars. Really, when was the last time you honestly filled out one of those landing cards when you were probably in excess of given allotments of goods? Nobody wants the hassle.

This seems a hollow post considering it may be my last in Egypt. Hopefully internet access will be available in Milan, and certainly when I get home closing words will prevail.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Now 6:15 local time. I've compiled a playlist on iTunes for my journey to the airport. Roughly one hour in duration as I will be swept through the city one last time. The airport is 20 km outside the city in "New Cairo." Music and travel, hand-in-hand. A soundtrack for the last hurrah. Just the sentimental inclination Apple pines for. It goes from sad to happy.

Run-Snow Patrol
A Smile that Explodes-Joseph Arthur
All These Things That I've Done-The Killers
Babylon-David Gray
Roads-Portishead
Y Control—Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Ocean Breathes Salty—Modest Mouse
Malibu—Hole
City of Blinding Light—U2
Hunter—Dido
Somewhere over the Rainbow—Israel Kamakawiwo’ole
Mother Whale Eyeless—Brian Eno
The Great Beyond—REM
Cosmic Dancer—T. Rex
Games without Frontiers—Peter Gabriel
Heroes—David Bowie
So Here We Are—Bloc Party
Where You End—Moby
I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)—The Proclaimers
Worn Me Down—Rachael Yamagata
Baba O'Reilly-The Who
Talk-Coldplay
Lift Me Up-Moby

Through a bad Michelle Pfeiffer movie and with Cadbury bars will it end?

At least that is how my comrades who didn't depart on tonight's British Airways flight to Heathrow (like it seems everyone did) are taking it downstairs before the television. Moping, devouring chocolate, listlessly rising and returning to some random film otherwise unpalatable. Many of us are sad to go, certainly, but there is a general consensus going home is just what everyone needs at this point. Or, in more blunt terms, whenever anyone asks when someone is going home, the response is typically "Hell (or insertive another expletive) yeah! Friday night!" A very intangible mingling of contradicting emotions is taking place.

Whatever the case, I will sorely miss those within this program. Emails and numbers exchanged today if they hadn't already been, and a steady realization we were to disperse back across Europe and the United States, into the little pockets from which we came to Egypt. To learn Arabic. Let's not forget that. I received my certificate today, qualifying me as an intermediate student. Hopefully, I would like to continue at Harvard Extension in the fall, and definitely into college. One of our teachers following our final applauded our efforts by printing out numerous articles stating the extreme difficulty of Arabic, and commended us on excelling beyond such claims and beating the statistics. For a quick summary...Arabic is a "class IV" language according to the Department of State and US military, a ranking occupied by just Arabic, Japanese, Korean and Mandarin. It requires the highest of cut-off scores on the Defense Language Aptitude Battery in order to train in. It is a Semitic language with 28 consonants, many of which entirely foreign to Romance or Germanic language speakers. Script is from right to left, which is the foundation of Urdu, Malay, and Persian. Over 200 million people speak Arabic, dialects varying widely. The United States has one of the most shameful representations of Arabic speakers, only nine graduating last year from US institutions certified as fluent by the standard of an exam whose name I am now forgetting. I guess Shereen's point was, Arabic is not so hard. If you dedicate yourself to the seemingly (and often legitimately) mind-blowing language. Which I love. All are forewarned I will likely be injecting Arabic into English conversation in the coming weeks. I will need to unclutter my brain. One must think exclusively in Arabic to function. Now, back to English.


Arabic...Language beyond the perimeter. Beyond the norm. In an endangered state. Exposed to traffic and scrutiny.

Back to the story

But if you are sly...and skillfully hide yourself and your actions, you may take shots such as this from behind a curtain on a shuttle bus. This is the Iraqi embassy. We have witnessed the entire building evolve from a home to diplomacy in physical shambles--browned, cracked, broken windows, no fence--to a very nice place on the east bank of the Nile. Now complete with three Benzs (that's the qualifying component). I don't know if it is occupied yet however.

Just a blurry, jumbled shot of the giant green, armored military vehicles which have littered the city the last week. Problem is, you can't take photos of them. Or of any soldier, embassy or remotely militaristic object or place. You get yelled at. Technically, it's against the law to photograph military related places or people in Egypt. But, that's next to impossible. The armored green trucks are creepy. There are three, wire-cage windows on each side through which sinewy, jaunty Egyptian boys (they don't really look like men) eagerly peer through. Almost like animals are the couped back there. In addition to these, there are always the navy blue Nissan pick-up trucks, upon the bed of which the boy soldiers eat, smoke, harass women. On every corner.

Tears to Rushdie's Eyes

Spectator and the Muslim. Actually, this is my buddy Peter innocently staring while a man prays in the background. There seemed a tension in al-Azhar, between us "tourists" and those who merely came to pray. al-Azhar is perhaps the most prominent Islamic center in Egypt, and one of the most revered in the world. These photos are from a few days ago, again, I need to go study more for my finals...

Two hours later, I think I have studied enough.

Today was the final for my class in Quranic Readings. While refraining from diving into the frightening details, our professor initially told us we were to have a class debate on the existence of a god according to the Quran. Yes, our final exam was to be whether or not god exists. As you can imagine, that didn't fly so well with us. After two weeks of toil, she finally succumbed to our arguments, and agreed to a written final of her choosing. Personally, I think it's a cool idea, but other people, respectfully enough, were like "wait a second, we have 90 minutes to prove whether god exists?!?!" Our teacher was often stubborn, and whenever we scratched beneath the surface of the Quran, she failed to grant us adequate answers or explanations, resorting to "god said so," and "I am not forcing you to believe it." Fierce debates about the circumambulation of the Kabbah and "true North" within the solar system, along with evolution, martyrdom and the hijab ensued. The class was volatile and unpredictable at best. Thus, we decided we would wage one final effort for the final. We armed ourselves with excerpts from The Satanic Verses, photocopies from physics textbooks we took from the library, articles from The Lancet and other medical journals, Darwin's Origin of Species and all the statistics we could get our hands on. Never were we so determined to prove that god does not exist, or, allow me to re-phrase that--that the Quran does not sufficiently provide evidence substantiating the existence of a god. Or, at the very least, demonstrate to her she needed to do a better job of explaining Islam, supporting facts and whatnot. That sounds awful, but, interestingly enough, the key figures of our conspiracy were two Muslim guys in our class, and those with the most firm belief in god were more vocal and involved in the collaboration than anyone else, primarily out of the disgrace they felt she was condemning Islam to in her simplicity and their disgruntlement in its presentation. At the end of the day, I guess it was not about the existence of a god, but about emphasizing the sensitivity, respect and open mind one must use when broaching the topic. I think we effectively fueled an uprising in an otherwise quiet course.

Students who in any way "challenge" their teachers are an anamoly, and susceptible to the wrath of the professor. Here in Egypt, and in fact, in much of the world, students are expected to simply regurgitate precisely what their teacher has told them. Almost verbatim on exams. However, our teacher Dahlia had the misfortune of encountering fifteen students accustomed to an American system of education--creativity, originality, Socratic methodology, free discussion, refuting and undermining what your teacher might say. At least that is what I would like to think the differentiating factor is, yet most definitely for the fifteen of us, who were stunned and disturbed by the moral and intellectual high ground our teacher presumed she stood atop, and her presumption of the absence of objection. And through no fault of her own. She was merely never exposed to alternative styles of education. She is a wonderfully kind person, clearly committed to teaching the Quran and a devote Muslim. But the friction of students and teachers from different schools of educational thought is difficult to overcome.

As for the other pictures of mosques...they provided a wonderful, independent venture into Islam. Mosques are one of the few, remaining places devoid of the touristic packaging. Very much a grassroots, mix and match affair of vistation. Most were practically empty when we visited, with a few men praying, and many actually asleep along the perimeter. Never any women. We were of course required to wear a veil in al-Azhar, and all other mosques require women to wear these green cover-alls if they arrive indecently attired. Women are provided a small, cordoned-off area to pray, for fear they will attract and distract men. Most pray at home, one of Muhammed's Hadith said it is best women, especially with children stay home to pray on Friday. And thus the tradition continues.

Facade of al-Azhar (home to world's oldest university) with pictures below

Veiled for the occasion

al-Azhar skylight

Group of Pakistanis visiting, along with us Americans and Europeans. Nice clash at the entrance.

Muhammed Pasha exterior (amazing geometric/script work)

Muhammed Pasha interior

Kneel to the crane (I think this is Mosque of Muhammed Pasha...someone correct me if I am wrong)

"Drop your bombs between the minarets, down the casbah way..." I need to get that song out of my head, now!

Prowling about through the Islamic quarter

Through the alleys.

microphones, kidneys, thick manila folders and the freedom of information act

Penetrating enemy territory...this is from near Khan al-Khalili a couple days ago during a class trip. And the backside of an American tourist.

Anyhow, the shuttle from school to the dormitories this afternoon should have been filmed. One of the most theatrically well-executed entanglements of dialogue concerning the background (FBI/CIA/MI-6 speaking) of the nine people aboard the bus. So very hysterical and politically incorrect...but people began discussing what forms of fundings and grants they were receiving to study Arabic here, many from the Department of Education, NGO's and the like. Then someone posited the probability of US agents in our midst. I have to admit, there are some suspicious characters here. We all turned on each other, realizing nobody truly knew the motive for anyone else on the bus's pursuit of Arabic. Okay, so it was absurd, but that was why it was fun. Conversation shifted into which Homeland Security watchlists we are probably on in being here. Our travel histories, family histories, phone records and so forth. We quickly recognized regardless of occupational association, we are a suspicious bunch ourselves. Then we began doing mock interviews or interrogations with CIA agents undercover, pretending mics were concealed in backpacks, and using what skills of interrogation we knew...who did you vote for, where do you shop, what medical concerns exist, your parents' backgrounds, your neighbors' opinions of you, etc. We are speaking accents and whispers, with what vernacular of spy movies and Hannity and Colmes bickering we can implement. It probably doesn't sound bizarre and funny, but was.

Behind Khan al-Khalili is Islamic Cairo, just a regular neighborhood. It's a tourist area, to an extent. As a bazaar that is hundreds of years old, it attracts foreigners, but the reality is, the quarter is basically the residence of some of Cairo's poorest. The Khan is certainly not "glamorous" per se, although charming and exotic, but foreigners clash with an area stricken by poverty.

A gawah, or awah, whatever name you like...but it's where Egyptian men (this returns to the question of supposed unemployment) spend their days drinking coffee and playing backgammon. Two activities which are occupations unto themselves here. Backgammon (or "tauweela") is played until the wee hours of the morn.

Okay, you know what? I don't know what these are. There are quite a few items of unidentifiable purposes sold at the Khan.

Sheesha...a conspicuous sight only to be had in Cairo. If you don't already know, sheeshas are tobacco puffing (I don't even know how to explain it) devices treading the line between gaudy and ornate in which flavored tobacco (like mango, strawberry) burns, and you smoke it.

Articulating Adaptation of the American Alien

Cross section of motley scholars. Alas the Arabic Language Institute's summer class of 2005 is drawing to a close, with finals at the end of this week, and a dizzying array of prepatory lectures for our return. Including one on the most intriguing psychological syndrome known as "Reverse Culture Shock." I would have initially refuted its very existence, in fact I did. But given the extensive emphasis placed by the school via its speakers and literature, I am thinking otherwise. It's really rather difficult to explain to one not residing in Egypt (such an elitist and exclusive club it is)--but the general idea is this: vast amounts of energy are put forth in adjusting to life in Cairo upon arrival, and suddenly leaving and being injected back into life in the States is very distressing, as a loss of direction or purpose arises (sounds more existential than I think it is), confusion and anxiety of the disparity of regions of the world troubles, and tension with the hypocrisy of one's life boils. Tuning yourself to the rhythm of the city is an extraordinary task. Personally, I was fine, my expectations were right on. For others, after all this work, to be popped back home again is boggling. The United States begins to look backwards, that's the point I think. Once at home, you experience feelings of isolation, as though nobody can understand what you've witnessed, and nobody will ever be able to empathize with the struggle of the people of your host nation (sounds like a soldier returning from war, real melodramatic) The wealth and ignorance of Americans is all the more exacerbating, and while most here probably already harbored such sentiment, there is again, a sense of "now what?" as though one can't decide where they belong. Cue the multitude of US professors who came to teach at the AUC for just a year or summer, and wound up living here. I have spoken to many of them, they just couldn't take the States anymore. Strange. After the transition to life in Cairo, the US seems too easy after transitioning here. Flowing into Cairo is not smooth for many, a jostling ride of comfort and hostility. One feels accustomed to America, for most, it's their home, but now they are forced into reverting to a state not like that of a child or an immigrant, but an alien to their own country.

In all, it's a matter of having seen the other side. Having been entrenched in the other side. And the United States, no matter how hard you try, will never be the same again.

Polar Prophecies

Star Chamber. No! Not that star chamber. This is the ceiling of a sauna and massage room.

Some random pictures from yesterday's interrupted excursion to a few sights, including this 17th century doctor's residency for the royal family. Wicked cool place, I wouldn't mind building one in the States, although I am thinking it wouldn't exactly synthesize well with the environment.

Cairo is still on high alert. National emergencies work wonders for Mubarak's image from what I've seen. All day long the smaller televisions without satellite on each floor have been broadcasting Nile News...so it's Mubarak 24/7 at the bed sides of the ailing and injured in Sharm. His status as a hero at least from the TV is only being confirmed. But he's somewhat responsible in my opinion. There were a bunch of people actually in Sharm this weekend aside from the three I know, and they all arrived back at the dormitories last night a little shaken to say the least. US nationals are basically not allowed to travel into Sinai at this point, which was unclear yesterday as special warnings reached us, but now flyers at the dorms from embassy staff are saying you'll be stopped and told to turn back.

A nail bomb went off for some reason near the Pyramids today too. I just found out about that, the news is playing it off as a coincidental fluke. Given the pattern of the last three bombings, and the fact the Egyptian forces have detained between 35 and 70 (love the range) people in connection with the Sharm explosions is an indication the illogical thinking of terrorists, who will seize their agenda as the terrorists take "revenge" for the detention of suspects. Just as a mass exodus of tourists are departing Sharm, many are leaving Cairo too, it's sad.

Under the auspices of imperialism

I really would like to build a mansion like this. It's like a bizarre cross of Mumluk, Morocco and Japanese.