Amenhotep III is depicted by statues, which stand on the west side of the Nile River
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Cognitive malfunction aside, writing and attempting to recount the events from last Christmas season seems appealing to me. As written before, solo travel opens the common sojourner to a gaggle of possibilities, some better than worse and some better forgotten rather than framed for the keeping. However, this trip still leaves me with the notion that those met along the way had just been waiting for me to arrive.
"There are no strangers, only friends who you have not met yet."
Catching a cheap flight to Egypt, I began on the path through the Muslim countries I had planned to visit. I had not planned a thing for Egypt. I just knew I had a flight to Cairo once school was out for Christmas. All event planning started and ended with the plane ticket from Madrid, no hostel, no idea of transport upon arrival, just my backpack and a vague plan of eventually heading farther southward along the Nile River. After getting off the plane, everyone was herded to a stagnant line filing in front of passport control. In Egypt, you can buy a visa upon arrival as a citizen of the U.S., later I heard of Canada extracting all their embassies and warning all Canadians to travel at their own risk within the country. I didn't know what to make of that really. Fortunately, we still had our embassy there allowing me to get this drive-through convenience type of visa.
A Bedouin man stands over the archaeological city of Petra, also known as Rose City due to the color of the stone |
Finding the actual desk where they were shelled out was a different story. I caught wind of where it was and sauntered over. The supposed "government employee" who sold me it was anything but official-looking. He was casually dressed and smoking a cigarette from the corner of his mouth while propping himself up against the office window. The smoke from his head lazily rose to the yellowing ceiling tiles above and just sort of waited around like the rest of us stuck there.
The guy hardly examined my passport and then patted the visa on after I paid him what I thought was his next sucker´s share of free cash. I walked away thinking he might as well have sold me a Mickey Mouse sticker with a speech bubble reading, "Welcome to Egypt, shit-head." I shrugged it off and figured I'd eventually see when I got to passport control.
The guy hardly examined my passport and then patted the visa on after I paid him what I thought was his next sucker´s share of free cash. I walked away thinking he might as well have sold me a Mickey Mouse sticker with a speech bubble reading, "Welcome to Egypt, shit-head." I shrugged it off and figured I'd eventually see when I got to passport control.
The line still wasn't exactly off to an ambitious start either. In the sly attempt to switch lines for a slightly faster one, I met an Egyptian girl around my age by the name of Nagwa. I asked her what her name meant, she told me something quite beautiful and then shrugged it off looking to change the subject. We shuffled through the line together chewing the fat. I didn't really know how to get to downtown Cairo from the airport and while she gave me some pointers, it became apparent to her that I had come to her country on a harebrained idea. Without any plea for assistance, she became insistent on helping me. I accepted. There was no palpable sense of an ulterior motive in the air. She told me she had arranged for a friend to pick her up. I was welcome to join them.
Petra´s Treasury, most likely recognized from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade |
The eventual meeting with a man of such ill-repute turned out to be not as bad as I was beginning to expect. He went by Mohamed, easy name to remember. Mohamed didn't seem too worried about me showing up in place of the tantalizing, fictitious Dutch girls either. We filled his car and left for Cairo.
"Speed limits: Hideous thoughts"
Mohamed drove with painful urgency, much as a man on fire runs to the nearest body of water. The curious part of the trip into the city was watching this guy speak pitch-perfect English in a reminiscent tone of Dr. Ian Malcolm from Jurassic Park while sat in a devil-may-care like posture with the light bouncing off his face from his mounted tablet on the center console as he slammed the accelerator through the floorboard of his sedan. This must just be how they are in Egypt behind the wheel, I thought. We were listening to mash-ups of 2014´s Top Billboard Hits. He was feeling the music and unaffected by the absence of the Dutch girls still. He seemed alright to me. I enjoyed listening to him complain about his country. Evidently, things hadn't been very good since they got rid of Mubarak during the Arab Spring; the people blamed bad politics, politicians blamed terrorism and so on and so forth.
How to cross the Nile like you've got a pair of Egyptian cojones |
Late night in Al-Hussein Khan El-Khalili |
Moments away from biting the dust after a botched attempt at sand surfing in the U.A.E.'s Rasal Khaimah Desert |
The Egyptian Museum is a perfect example. They aren't about putting on any airs over fair pricing either. I understand locals should have a discount, it is their heritage, but the difference in pricing is eye-gouging. Under the Museum´s ticket booth hangs a sign which reads: 75 Egyptian pounds - single entry, and below: 1 Egyptian pound (written in Arabic of course). It could be their little way of sticking it to the West for France and England's storing of their most invaluable artifacts in the museums of Europe. Sadly, they are safer there anyhow.
As for my personal safety, I not once felt unsafe moving about the country on my own. There were some moments that lent to a poignant understanding of life being different than the West. One look at the feral dogs ripping the flesh from the bones of retired horse and camel carcasses decaying along the fenceline separating Giza from the Great Pyramids and anyone could see.
Any garden-variety westerner would likely return to their unhousebroken pet with a new appreciation for its occasional shortcomings on the living room floor. This was not home. Small, little defining moments like this and I could feel the distance from home sprawl out beneath my feet like unwinding Sibylline scrolls prophesizing coming gloom. Some blemishes are not easily airbrushed over in a place where such might and glory once faced the rest of the world in abhorrent defiance to decay. The Great Pyramids, the Sphinx and all the desert sand beneath them seemed to be boasting and bellowing in eternal sadness at once.
Any garden-variety westerner would likely return to their unhousebroken pet with a new appreciation for its occasional shortcomings on the living room floor. This was not home. Small, little defining moments like this and I could feel the distance from home sprawl out beneath my feet like unwinding Sibylline scrolls prophesizing coming gloom. Some blemishes are not easily airbrushed over in a place where such might and glory once faced the rest of the world in abhorrent defiance to decay. The Great Pyramids, the Sphinx and all the desert sand beneath them seemed to be boasting and bellowing in eternal sadness at once.
Starting our night with Mohamed and his radiant smile are seated to the right |
That night Mohamed picked me up, I threw my backpack in the trunk of his car and we went out to a birthday party one of his friends was having. He told me about the Egyptian Revolution and what it was like to be in Tahrir Square once Mubarak had been ousted. He told me about the revelry and looting. Spirits were high and news reports were distorted according to him.
"I don't cause riots, but I do cause confusion. People freeze when they spot me." -Tom Hanks
Some men stole half of an iron bridge with a hydraulic tommy lift on the back of a pickup truck, using the lift as if it were a pick ax. Not a soul stopped them either. He also watched one guy unsuccessfully try and load a plasma TV in the back of his other-than-spacious tuk-tuk. When exasperated by the bulky electronic not fitting, he snapped it in two over the curb, load it and drove off. There are a lot of impressive people out there.
A breakfast layed out for Abdulaziz, all his brothers (enough to form an American football team) and myself upon arrival in Saudi Arabia |
There was no profit-strategy or expected outcome. Seeing to the need was the end in itself. It was brilliant really, nothing for nothing. Maybe from this concept of such great expansive nothingness, the birth of zero came to be. The principle made my neck hair shift and itch at the thought. I remember thinking we didn't have such a handle on it back home and, what´s more, losing it by whatever means would soon lead us to further alienation, perhaps leaving us in an even worse bereft state than that of the one before.
Sunset over Dubai, the Burj Khalifa tower poking into the clouds above |
I was off to Luxor, the old city of Thebes. The overnight train had me there by morning where an unexpected man claiming he worked for the hostel I was looking for had been waiting to pick up obvious tourists like me. The layout of the city was an absolute mystery, so I followed him like a good lamb to the slaughter. It turned out the hostel wasn't the one I had made plans to stay in, but rather the authentic, relocated one. I came to this conclusion much to the indignation of the owner of the hostel who met me at the front desk. She was an Australian mother of two with a madcap way of handling her business, which she seemed to do quite well, actually. It turns out they upgraded to a bigger building after doing well at her older location. Much to her chagrin, the people who ended up at her old, supposedly defunct, hostel got their hands on some old signage from the place and hung it up, carrying on with the business in the same vein as before as though it never closed.
My friend Abdulaziz and I visiting his uncle's camel farm in Saudi Arabia |
I met some other solo-travelers in the hostel: a Chilean man, Spanish-Catalan woman, a reserved English guy and a Chinese dude in his twenties. We saw Luxor together and eventually headed south to the city of Aswan. The English guy went by Mark. We got to know one another during a day trip along the west bank of the Nile known as Theban Necropolis, the land of the dead. Evidently, we had been staying on the living side of the Nile.
The Valley of the Kings was the principal attraction along the way. Stopping in Habu Temple, our guide explained the history of the wrath of Ramesses III over the Sea Peoples. There were plenty of wall inscriptions to echo the brutality, including one with a pile of the enemies severed penises, quite an emasculating defeat
The Valley of the Kings was the principal attraction along the way. Stopping in Habu Temple, our guide explained the history of the wrath of Ramesses III over the Sea Peoples. There were plenty of wall inscriptions to echo the brutality, including one with a pile of the enemies severed penises, quite an emasculating defeat
Entering the portico of Habu Temple |
Before leaving Luxor, Mark and I shared an entertaining night together with a local we had met on the street. We had already done our share of walking around the city, fending off two-bit, street hustlers for the day until we came across a middle-aged man named Karim.
There are always moments that merit the letting go of the illusion of control. Karim seemed to find us at the right time. Mark´s headphones were perilously hanging out of his bag dragging along the dirty street when Karim slid himself into our path. He was missing a few teeth but not afraid to make a first impression. In helping save the headphones from being lost to the street, he asked for their purchase. Mark calmly said "they aren't for sale” as he was preparing to part company with the guy. Karim wasn't having it. He really wanted to show us a time out. I looked at Mark and said, “Why not?”
Karim, Mark, Ana and I awaiting the train before leaving Luxor for Aswan |
Karim asked if we were up for going to a tourist spot or a more local scene. We both agreed on the ladder of course. He took us to an unlikely place where he had to leave his ID with the doorman. It did not resemble anything from the outside, just a normal city block. We went down a dimly lit stairwell and were sat by an overly made-up waitress. The place definitely looked a bit sordid. I sat with my back to the wall just next to the door we came in. Mark and Karim sat side-by-side. There were a few other customers in the low lit room, mostly Nubian, with the exception of one middle-aged American man who looked more like he belonged in a PTA meeting than this subterranean Egyptian form of a speakeasy. He had another Nubian guy sat next to him against the wall a stone´s throw away. We acknowledged each other with the tacit way most may when they seem to share an unspeakable secret. The only thing was neither I, nor Mark, knew what that secret was just yet. The waitress came to take our order. They had beer and I had a tea.
Preferring to go by Eliot, our friend Zhao Wei presents us his prized Polariod |
Mark wasn't having it. He sat in a posture so uptight you wouldn't have been able to cram a pin up his ass with a jackhammer. Karim mentioned that he was illiterate in the English language as he requested us to read some of the entries aloud, then write our own and read them aloud, too. We felt obliged to humor him.
We did so given that it seemed to mean so much to him. Then he got on about Mark letting his guard down saying things like “open your heart” and “we are all brothers here.” I began to bust a gut with laughter. The situation was just too much to handle, the incidental Karim, the questionable place he had taken us to, Mark´s stone-cold face, it all came together in a perfect harmonious farce of itself.
We did so given that it seemed to mean so much to him. Then he got on about Mark letting his guard down saying things like “open your heart” and “we are all brothers here.” I began to bust a gut with laughter. The situation was just too much to handle, the incidental Karim, the questionable place he had taken us to, Mark´s stone-cold face, it all came together in a perfect harmonious farce of itself.
Inside the tomb of Horemheb in the Valley of the Kings, here Anubis, the protector of the dead and embalming, is seen facing to the left |
Karim let off with the headphone talk for awhile and got to bragging about his time in the service and working for the Egyptian CIA. He started showing us scars and telling us tall tales from his glory days. He was so full of it his eyes were brown. Then he hit us up for a little souvenir to remember us by. Anything from our countries would work. Mark gave him a British pound. I was without American dollars since I had come to his country by way of over a year spent in Spain. I tried giving him a King Juan Carlos I minted euro, but he was not too amused. He let me know I was in his debt for that.
I had another fit of laughter. It was beginning to draw some attention. He went on to show everyone he had helped out before had given him a little something in the past. He made mention of his button-up shirt he had on as a gift from a man from Holland. Looking closer we found that the guy had five layers of clothes on. It was still eighty degrees outside.
I had another fit of laughter. It was beginning to draw some attention. He went on to show everyone he had helped out before had given him a little something in the past. He made mention of his button-up shirt he had on as a gift from a man from Holland. Looking closer we found that the guy had five layers of clothes on. It was still eighty degrees outside.
Mark and I kicked back in the Temple of Karnak |
Christmas dinner my first night in Saudi Arabia |
I still didn't see Karim´s profit out of bringing us there, but I am sure there was one. He finally dropped the lustful talk and offered Mark a Nokia mobile phone. He wanted to meet with us the following night. Mark wasn´t too privy to the idea of accepting the phone, nor his offer. He was still sitting in the posture of a man in an electric chair awaiting his doom. To alleviate the situation, I told Karim I'd accept the phone without a problem.
“No,” he refused with an insolent glare, “you're not on a straight path like Mark, you are a cheeky one and I don´t trust you.” The irony was too much to handle and I could feel the next fit of laughter building up.
“Tell me, how much do you trust me,” I asked, “give me a percentage.”
“Twenty percent,” he said curtly.
A walk about Shei Zayed Grand Mosque in Abu Dhabi while Abdulaziz and his brother pray |
My new Chilean friend Eduardo and I preparing for a hot air balloon ride at sunrise just over The Valley of the Kings |
My thoughts shifted to the legalities of prostitution in a Muslim country like Egypt. It started like bolt of lightening striking a drought-plagued field of desiccated grass in summer, one strike and then, devouring flames.
I wouldn't have put male castration past their courts either. I would end up like the conquered Sea Peoples, just without a timeless inscription on their walls. All I knew is that I didn't want to find out. Any trip without desperate need of the American embassy is a good one to me. Maybe I was thinking too much. Maybe the government turned a blind-eye to places like this. Or maybe we were going to have to bribe our way out.
I wouldn't have put male castration past their courts either. I would end up like the conquered Sea Peoples, just without a timeless inscription on their walls. All I knew is that I didn't want to find out. Any trip without desperate need of the American embassy is a good one to me. Maybe I was thinking too much. Maybe the government turned a blind-eye to places like this. Or maybe we were going to have to bribe our way out.
Once again we had returned to the headphone disagreement, the very topic that hooked us into coming into this shady situation in the first place. Mark had his headphones in hand, Karim leaned forward from the wall, eyes intent and voice solemn.
The Nile River as soon from Aswan in southern Egypt |
They were locked in. One second lagged behind another in languid endlessness. Karim piercing into Mark's eyes, Mark abiding, looking at his handful of his property and back at Karim's unbroken stare and then looking back at his headphones. I could feel the tension between the two hitting me across the table.
The next laugh attack was coming, too. After a solid minute passing, I lost it. Karim, looking annoyed, asked what was so funny. He could see my uncontrollable spurts were of no use to his game. My sides were aching by now.
The next laugh attack was coming, too. After a solid minute passing, I lost it. Karim, looking annoyed, asked what was so funny. He could see my uncontrollable spurts were of no use to his game. My sides were aching by now.
"With mirth and laughter let wrinkles come." -William Shakespeare
Abdulaziz and I relaxing on his Uncle's camel farm outside of Riyadh |
Karim disregarded me entirely now. He was back to his assumed position staring Mark in the eye with an upturned hand now.
“Give them to me, Mark. Give your headphones to your brother.”
Then, with slow and jerky uncertainty, Mark extended the headphones, letting them defeatedly slip out of his hand and into the palm of Karim. It was done. At last, Karim had what he so desperately coveted.
I had quieted down by then and just watched the two of them. Karim looked at his new headphones, back at Mark and then back at the headphones. The turning point of the night hung in the air and impacted our table with an uncomfortable feeling as though being stared at from a lone stranger leaning, nonchalantly, on his elbow at the bar, thinking some unknown treachory. We sat at a corner of the room, but it now seemed to be dead-center.
Just two bros in front of the Temple of Hatshepsut, the name of the "first great woman in history." |
“Ahh man, Mark,” I butt in, “can't you see? This has been a test all along, one you've passed!” Naturally, I was fanning Karim´s ego's desire to be viewed as some old sage wisened by the years. He looked awfully smug reclining to the wall again.
It was getting late. We asked for the bill. When it came, it was obvious why Karim wanted us to learn the Arabic number system: The drinks were on us. Evidently, he didn´t want us being confused and feeling overcharged by the end of the night.
Just as we were about ready to pay and make our way to the exit, the door violently burst open next to me, just inches from my seat. A flood of men screaming in Arabic marched in, the last with a revolver tucked into his pants, held to the small of his back by his belt. We were had, I knew it. They had no uniforms, but they definitely had some authority.
An afternoon picnic with Abdulaziz and his extended family in the UAE desert |
They went directly to the American man's table, his partner stood up with machine-gun-rapid Arabic spewing from his mouth. The man with the revolver walked up to him while his cronies held the accused by his underarms. They both screamed at one another without listening to the other party at all. It was apparent the one with the the revolver was in charge. He slapped the man in the face and they began to shuffle off with him. I was still waiting for him and his crew to turn their combined efforts against the rest of us in there. Instead they filed their way out the door and you could hear them banging their way up the steps and out the front door, leaving devious PTA dad behind and alone at his table now.
A Nubian man standing before the backdrop of the Nile at Hatshepsut Temple |
PTA dad was staring at our table. It was only us left in there at this point. We finally acknowledged him and he came over to explain what he made of it all. His name was Tim. PTA dad Tim had been working in Cairo for years and the apprehended man was his loyal driver and friend apparently. Evidently, the driver had a bad day in traffic and went all ape-shit on some motorist's car with the heel end of his shoe, which is culturally the vulgarest of insults to be dished out in there.
After a bit off ego headbutting with PTA dad Tim, Karim finally persuaded him to go see about bailing his friend out of police custody. He left and shortly thereafter we did as well.
Karim mentioned going to see some bellydancing the following night and made mention of expecting a phone call from him. Mark and I walked back the dirt roads to the hostel. It had been a fun night. I think Mark secretly enjoyed the experience deep down. He never said.
A team effort in negotiating a price for our way out of small town BFE, even with taxis in Egypt one must learn to haggle |
They accompanied me to the taxi and helped in haggling the price down for a lift to the airport. The haggling never ends in Egypt. I knew I'd never see any of them ever again and I was certain they knew it, too. I gave each one a hug and got in the old beater. The taxi clattered away as Aswan was swallowed in the maw of dark emptiness.
Crusader castle in Karak, Jordan |
"No man can live this life and emerge unchanged. He will carry... the imprint of the desert... and he will have within him the yearning to return... For this cruel land cast a spell which no temperate clime can match."
-Lawrence of Arabia
I made some small chat with the taxi driver, learning a bit about his family in the limited English he could get out for me. We picked up a woman trying to thumb a ride in the middle of the black obscurity. She was on the side of the road all alone. In a few hours it would be Christmas Day. I looked out into the blank darkness that smothered the Sahara Desert. I wondered who else was out there alone, standing quietly, swallowed by the desolate night.