And the walls came tumbling down...

You know the borders of the world are gradually dissolving when your own wallet is a veritable bureau de change. I now have five currencies with sizable denominations of bills. Not of out a habit of collecting such, but out of necessity (I have global currency stores in my closet). Out of practicality and emergency comfort, I always keep 100 USD in my wallet. Of course, I have oodles of Egyptian pound notes (and pieces of pound notes, no matter how discolored, how many congealed scotch-tape salvations, it's a currency which endures time, literally), then I have around 60 euro right now (left over from other travels, but wise to have no less when Egyptian pounds are refused and on the flight home), then I have 40 pound sterling (just because everyone should), an indeterminable quantity of yen (long story we'll get to in a minute), and I have around a 100 Croatian kuna (although I believe that does me no good outside Croatia). Egyptians don't invest very much fidelity in their own currency, hence the fact many tourist and transport operations require payment exclusively in foreign currency. I have even had taxi drivers demand euro from me. When I retrieved my DHL package in the Garden City district of Cairo, I couldn't pay in LE (although the customs duty seemed absurd in the first place). So, not wanting to relinquish vast sums of money with uncertainty as to where they might be replenished, I zipped to the Bureau de Change down the street. They were out of USD. And euro. And pound sterling. That happens often here, their supplies rapidly diminishing and some ridiculous governmental control inhibiting them from more liberal exchanges. So, I ended up exchanging in yen. It was late in the day, and it was my last option.

In Alex (its affectionate diminutive form, you don't want to be caught sounding like a loser or a tourist around here calling it Alexandria), I can be a traveler once more. Part of what is conflicting about Cairo at this point, and why I have to think twice about where precisely I am is, is that I don't quite realize I am in Cairo since it is my home. I am not visiting and therefore there is no fleeting novelty to be tamed. Unlike a traveler, I am not bombarded by constant iconography and messages stimulating my excitement about being in Cairo. I get espresso each morning, walk to market, take the shuttle, stroll in the evening, study, study, study. I mean, I am not constantly thinking, "Wow, I am in Hingham" now am I? Dabbling in the routine of the populace whose nation you are visiting is one thing, living and having no choice but to integrate is another. The establishment of routines I would say is one of the grounds of integration. As a tourist, you are endowed with a holy mission to seek and see every new sight and sound. Traveling is about exposure to the exotic. When you travel you are intentionally busting out from the mundane routine of home. You won't eat at the same places. You won't visit the same stores. And you usually won't see the same things twice. Now here in Cairo, I do have to eat at the same places, I do have to shop in the same stores, and I do see the freaking Egyptian Museum, feluccas on the Nile and the Citadel every single day. Here in Cairo I have to charge out to the Metro Market or Seoudi for water or fruit or something every time. So, you make friends with the employees. And I take my breakfast this morning and every Friday morning at Tabasco, and Omar my waiter and I are buddies, he knows my order by heart.

And every Friday morning I do my elongated loop of Zamalek. You could be nearly anywhere on such treks. That's not to elude to the generic, European feel of Zamalek, but I don't feel I am in Cairo, and I'm just out for a walk. The lush trees of Zamalek counter the rest of the city, the late 19th century architecture and boulevards of the mansions of Cairo's elite, stray men out in Islamic garb prowling down the street. I look around me at these men (as I am often the only woman around) and think, what if they were born elsewhere? Pretend today is their 30th birthday, the 15 of July 1975 they were born. And I think to the opposite end of my spectrum, I think of Reykjavik, and I think of a 30 year-old guy I probably saw there. It sounds ever so juvenile and idealistic and whatnot, but aren't we all just people? If you put the Egyptian and the Icelander side-by-side, just think for a minute. Is it a matter of where you are born within a split second from being in the Third World to being in a first class, albeit pseudo-socialist, fringe Arctic state?

I realize it's more complicated, but when I was younger I had this silly globalization, pop-culture, environmentalist book (I still have), and inside was this spinner, and when you spun it, the circle was divided into sectors whose size was contingent upon your likelihood of being born there. And I could spin that thing for hours and hours and hours and practically always land myself in one of the two Third World classes it included. America was this tiny sliver. The more you travel, when you stop and detach the people from the locations, and consider the now millions of people across the world I have walked passed, it's quite humbling. The Quran works diligently in emphasizing that "spreading of mankind" in its promotion of equality (stronger than any other religion), which I'll delve into later. I also think back to one of my favorite documentaries of all time. It is that of a rather young Dr. Spencer Wells, and his work, which aired on PBS a couple years ago, The Journey of Man (calling Amazon commission...and, can you imagine naming your film that?) So, the concept is over the top to begin with, but Wells is a geneticist and anthropologist, seeking to unravel the roots and evolution of mankind, and in a matter of a few hours in this piece (originally a book), he does a miraculous job. And I am quite critical of most documentaries, that's saying something. But I suppose I have always found evolution and genetics most fascinating, way back to an acute dinosaur and Big Bang obsession that went on a little too long.

I don't know if anyone has been having difficulty accessing this site the past twelve hours, because I have. Don't know why. Blogger goes haywire every now and again.