Cairo 2005: 10 July 2005

UNESCO's pride in tainted antiquity

I lost all my pictures from Cairo to Alex. I don't know how. I uploaded them, deleted them from my camera during the process as I always do, and they weren't there. I began taking test photos, and it works fine now. And I should mention internet is pricey (my own relative cost standards are skewed in this country. I don't know I can ever pay for a three dollar coffee again) so, posts tomorrow until 8:30 my time, then the next day, after 5pm.

Get into Ramses Station around 6:45. Ramses is a short drive from the dormitories, and mornings such as this are blissfully calm as a thick fog struggles to rise from the Nile and the city it blankets. The sky is gray, overcast, as it always is this time of day. Somber, but not gloomy. Anyhow, I arrive at Ramses. I give the driver 10 LE, probably more than I should, but he whisked me through the chaotic bustle outside the station and he didn't offer a marriage proposal. The station is a surprisingly well coordinated affair, by Egyptian standards. If you squint your eyes (real hard), you could pretend you were in Waterloo or Gare du Nord. I appear to know what I am doing, albeit the only white girl in the station, I am not approached by tourist police, and my command of Arabic is sufficient in reading the timetable board, which is ONLY in Arabic. Speaking of my Arabic, I would say it's pretty damn good these days. We've covered all tenses of the Arabic language, hundreds, if not thousands of vocabulary words, and my grammar structure become more complex daily. Anyhow, train departs at 8am, the receptionist at the dorm said boarding at half past seven would be adequate.

I slip into a gawah where I take a seat at a table beside a window looking onto the platforms. The waiter comes by, I order a coffee, in Arabic, he cheerily blurts, "Nescafe!" To which I reply, "No, something stronger, like, um, Turkish coffee" (in Arabic). He nods and dutifully returns with this and a bottled water, which, I accepted despite the 2 LE charge. If Turkish coffee sparked heart attacks, this Turkish coffee would have prepared me for a triple bypass. It was so strong, so thick, not too sweet, but so out of this world. It would wake someone out of a coma (who's up for instituting "Turkish coffee mornings at HHS?"). I've taken to the occasional Turkish coffee here where I can find it, it's a special treat not purely for the sake of its consumption but for the concomitant experience. So, I sit back, gaze across the station which is gradually revving, with flocks of Sudanese families, young children and elderly women. Now that my heart is pounding, I hitch up my backpack and laptop bag and head for the train.

Platform 3. Turbochine bound for Alexandria. Car 5. Seat 56. Sounds easier than it is. The train cars are mysteriously out of order. But I find my way, to a nice seat, yet right before a bulkhead at the front of the car with a highly obstructed window view due to a broken shade. You know that lurching feeling in your stomach you get walking down the aisle of a train or a plane when you keep quickly glancing from your ticket to the seat you don't want? That was the situation. And that's obviously the seat you get. But, I was happy to be aboard for the two hour journey. The ride ran perpendicular to Nile, passing verdant fields with donkeys, goats and older men hunched harvesting something. And miles and miles of dilapidated villages, malnourished children waving at the train, cars smashed into trees along the motorway abandoned. Interesting. And boom, you're in Alexandria.

Michael Palin called Alexandria "Cannes with acne." I would perhaps say "18th century Marseilles with severe small pox." At any rate, the saline saturated breeze and gorgeous azure coast is wonderful. The yellow and black Fiat taxi bombed down the Corniche. It was stunning.

The hotel has TV5. I think I could just sprawl before the bed and watch that all day long. Bask in neither Arabic nor English (guilt inducing), but French. And the hotel is spectacular, FYI, if you come to Alexandria, Renaissance Hotel Alexandria is where it's at.

And, a private beach, and rooftop pool, sauna, steamroom, awesome gym. I went to the beach immediately, and beneath a big yellow umbrella, on a lounge chair, with books and iPod, big fluffy towels, I settled for the afternoon. It was SO nice. Attire is everything. Being on a private strip of beach, there were two other guys, on a huge parcel of sand, between hoards of people blocked by fences and guards. Kind of weird. But all the women were completed clothed. Swimming. I could have hopped in with the two-piece, later guests did, but I went with the two-piece and a fitted tee shirt. Seemed sufficient. Modesty and respect for them. But, it was wonderful.

Then I went to the Bibliotecha Alexandrina. It was a massive, and I don't want to use the word monstrosity, but, a "striking" new monument on the shoreline that is a revival of the ancient library, sponsored by the United Nations, costing them millions, if not into the billions of dollars. It's ridiculous. The architecture, eh, interesting, out of the ordinary for Egypt, but I have seen it before. The green glazed glass shooting into the sky brimmed by stainless steel supports and bright white detail. Security was very tight. Most of the visitors were actually young Muslim women, some around my age, which was nice to see. Inside the library, it's kind of just a library. Lots of hype.

Following this I went out to Carrefour, the market, not realizing it was on the Cairo Alex Desert Road, or on the outskirts of the city. Whoa. It's like a BJ's and a Wal-Mart with some class, and within a sizable mall. Complete with "Mr and Mrs Smith" playing at the theatre, video game stores, Niketown, too much to see. Very interesting though. Sadly, maybe more interesting than the library.

Apparently there are concerts out here. Not today...

Sharp lines

Mona Lisa's a bit much

Somewhat cool script design work

Shakespeare, in Arabic. There's very little you can't find in this library. In every language.

Liking the view from here.

The "other side" of the Renaissance Alexandria beach.

Superb waves, I wish I were nine with a boogie board, remember those?

Sidi Bishr beach stretch

Anywhere in the world, I am wired. Scary actually.

Bomber in the Backyard?

Here's some late breaking (as of my timezone), rapidly developing story...don't know where this is going... oddly exciting...you can find the stories yourself...I need to pack for Alex.
Man held in London blasts (CNN feed frontpage) --Cairo police have arrested an Egyptian biochemist sought in connection with the London terrorist attacks, the Egyptian Interior Ministry confirmed Friday.

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.

"The sea is high again today, with a thrilling flush of wind."

This is going to be me in less than 48 hours. About 45 to be exact. Lunging toward the ocean. Actually, the Mediterranean, not the Atlantic. Obviously. Because...I am heading to Alexandria for the weekend and I am elated. And yes, this is in fact Shea, one of my dogs two days before I departed at Minot Beach in Scituate during a farewell romp. He's a lousy swimmer but he appears excited. And the quote's the opener of the Alexandria Quartet, which I began reading, along with Mahfouz's trilogy. The quote's bland but it's simplicity refreshing.

I haven't the faintest idea what I will blog of tomorrow. My excitement right now was propelled by the fact it is officially the weekend on Thursday afternoon. And after a very intense, but very satisfying and wonderful week of Arabic, the weekend is much welcomed. Tomorrow will consist of the routine Friday morning breakfast at Tabasco, and then I am on a mission to find a bathing suit which will not invite the wrath of Alexandria. Women swim at the beaches in Alexandria completed clothed, even with a veil. Guys and kids can wear whatever, but Arab women hop into the waves in street clothes. The resort I am staying at has a "private beach" so I don't quite know what the dresscode is there, as it is part of Sidi Bishr, the main beach strip downtown. I may feel kind of skanky in a J.Crew two-piece.

Whatever the case, I think I can relax within the confines of the hotel, newly renovated, very nice. I am taking the high-speed train into Alex Saturday morning, which I have been told is a gorgeous route. The high-speed train costs about 17 USD roundtrip, although the Egyptian government will only allow foreigners to travel on certain trains, and only in first class. The train situation is great in how inexpensive it is, and yet the restrictions imposed on foreigners seem not of security but entrepreneurial motives. That's like a lot of things here though.

For our recent talk of Egyptian politics, an old Newsweek article (not the genre to typically be retained) was in fact retained from two years past from school. It's "Muhammad Atta's Neighborhood," chronicling Cairo's fundamentalist underbelly from which the ringleader of 9/11 was born.

City of General Electric Stars

6th of October Bridge.

I realize I haven't seen stars in a month and a half. There's my post.

Or the moon, or the sun itself for that matter.

Evading the Regime

Morning atop the roof of the school. The AUC is situated upon Tahrir Square, although within its campus, you wouldn't realize it. However, the roof is accessible as the school was once in fact the palace of the Minister of Education in the 1860's. and therefore classrooms and offices are located in unusual places, including rooms which can only be reached across the roof. I took this shot in the morning, when it is relatively calm.

The Cairene's circadian rhythm shifts dramatically in the summer months--waking up in the late afternoon, working, staying up late into the wee hours and through early morning. Then dozing off again. It's a matter of the heat. Cairo can't quite rise until the evening, as is evidenced by the fact shops are always open, children frolick in the streets well past midnight and traffic increases in some places. School inhibits such an arrangement from materializing.

Being Zamalek is rather strange however in its dense population of Westerners. I see lots more iPods there. I pass the Japanese ambassador every morning walking his dogs. I see the Serbian ambassador's wife and young children in the afternoons at the Metro Market (the residence is just behind the dormitories). Each time I find myself frequenting this particular establishment, I often find myself thinking after a few minutes, "where am I on a map again?" I have to stop and think that I am in Cairo. Expat communities are really rather interesting. Clusters of foreigners in exotic places binding yet struggling for autonomy. And the infinite battle against the dreaded tourist. I can safely declare 90% of those who visit Egypt on holiday ride around in air conditioned buses, stay in huge chain hotels like the Marriott and Hilton, entities onto themselves where pools, room service, restaurants, shops and banks ensure these tourists never have to step foot in the real Cairo. Unless of course accompanied by an AC bus. They are simply terrified, rightfully so in some regards. I am often approached by Westerners for directions, linguistic help or cultural problems on the streets, hopefully demonstrative of my assimilation into this life. And I do feel this is my home now.

But Egyptians may be the only people to declare this home. The Egyptians I know best are my teachers, four women, varying in age and conservatism. Merely teaching Arabic at the American University in Cairo is a radical act however defying social standards, and I wonder what it is like for them in that role. It is undoubtedly representative of major successes in their lives in obtaining these positions. In particular is our grammer teacher, Shereen, who was born and raised in Upper Egypt (southern Egypt beyond the delta) which might as well be 12th century Arabia. And she somehow managed to leave home, learn English, become educated, visit the US, teach at the AUC, even teach Arabic at Middlebury. Sometimes I wonder if she feels trapped here. If she's envious of our ability to travel and learn so freely. Because these four teachers are so bright, and they have managed to overcome so much in simply being English teachers at an American University, and yet they are subjected to a life of male accompaniment, negligence, abuse. But not the veil. I respect the veil.

That was about the most random post ever.

Conflicts aren't swept under a rug. They're swept into a display case.

A stroll in the subdued crossfire.

Alas Egypt's military might was brought before me in two highly informative museums devoted to the police and military within the Citadel. I am a pacifist by nature, yes, but I accept the inevitability of war, and can take subversive pleasure in the strategics and art of it.

Egypt showcases a multitude of tanks and fighter jets outside the Military Museum. Inside is an alarmingly large trove of guns, uniforms, flags, maps, murals, photos...remarkably comprehensive in fact. You won't find anything quite like this in the States, the closest I could fathom in regards to planes is the National Air and Space Museum, and then numerous other museums dedicated to individual wars. Elsewhere, the Imperial War Museum in London would have to be the locale of the largest scale and depth in terms of war goodies. Visiting the National Military Museum of Egypt invoked concern in the troubles of creating a tasteful war museum. Without bashing your enemy, excessively glorifying yourself, concealing your mistakes and presenting the truth. Perhaps the Imperial War Museum is palatable in its humility at times, and the expansiveness of British action alleviates an overtly nationalistic sentiment somehow.

Nonetheless, Egypt's museum provided one crippling blow to Israel after the next. That's the sole generalization I can make. Extensive displays are endowed to Islamic crusades of the 7th and 8th centuries, as well as during the time of the monarchy. But of course, things get interesting post-1952. There are these great murals (camera battery died half way through, very disappointing) of Jimmy Carter, Sadat and Menachem Begin signing a treaty in a plush green garden somewhere in DC which allows for a backdrop of the White House, Capitol Hill, Potomac, and Lincoln Memorial all at the same time which I believe is nowhere. There are also murals of Mubarek climbing the pyramids. You have to see it for yourself. It was all very impressive, but all very bizarre. A lot can be said of a nation by its military. And how it is represented. As an American walking through this museum, I nearly felt as though I was being exposed to something I shouldn't be seeing. In a museum which effectively nullifies any plans of peace. What is a farcical museum of delusions to me is venerated place of national pride to an Egyptian.