My OperaSphinx-based Goofing, Plus I Continue My Backgammon Losing Streak
Tuesday, September 6, 2011 7:17:05 PM
Hello,
I've been to Cairo before, but it wasn't like this. Looking back on five years ago reveals: it was winter, it was pre-revolution, I didn't speak Arabic, I was with my family, and we got scammed very easily. But thought it was a world away in most respects, Cairo was recognizable for what I would call its essence: the hazy, crazy, congested sprawl. It is not Athens, it is not "the West," and it is not easy.
Thankfully we had help. Our CouchSurfing host was a true cosmopolitan, a Copt and French teacher named Nagui whose name is traditionally preceded by "monsieur," even in conversation with his Arab friends. He's in the middle of this terrible picture...
...with another surfer on the left, Alejandro of Chile. Not pictured are his charismatic cats or his coterie of Frenchies, who he manages to keep around him all times of the year. Nagui was the perfect antidote to hectic Cairo--assiduously calm despite the traffic, funny and full of advice. Casey and I bantered with him on everything we could think of, and I tried in vain to revive the morsels of French I had picked up from travelers along the way.
Nagui's flat in Heliopolis was our staging point for two old tourist stand-bys and one new one: the Pyramids, Islamic Cairo, and Tahrir Square, respectively. Here's our report.
The Pyramids are just as scammy as ever, perhaps more because of the revolution's effect on Egypt's typically strong tourism sector. Casey and I avoided some (see above, the camel is named Charlie Brown) and fell for others...
...like this guy, who claimed hilariously to work for the government, usually took 200 Egyptian pounds ($35) for his services, but would be happy if we were happy. He led us around some less-touristed tombs...
...explained that he would be fired if anyone found out, and then threw himself on the ground and complained of sun sickness when he found out we wouldn't go above 80 pounds ($13), in itself a righteously good haul for his old ass. It turned out that speaking Arabic did not help us, but instead led us into a lot of "special price" situations. This kid, seen here drawing the layout of the pyramids on the ground...
...was so impressed with Arabic and my work in Palestine that he told us about a secret pyramid interior, which nobody knows about, but he would let us into for free. We obliged the dude at the entrance...
...with 10 pounds baksheesh (tip) and took a break from the baking sun inside a pyramid. There's a lot of awesome speculation that aliens built the things, but Casey and I refrained from discussing it with the stone-faced pyramid guy. He waited for us to quit muttering about how cool it was and led us out, reminding us to watch our heads over and over...
...and back we went into the waiting arms of our youthful would-be guide. It turns out that Muhammad, as he was named, was also a keen photographer specializing in the type of cheesy scenes we had to that point avoided. Would you a picture with you hand on top of the pyramid? Jumping over the pyramid? Picking up the pyramid? No, no, no! Welllll...probably in a silly mood from the 100-degree heat, we finally assented, resulting in these gems:
I have now officially relinquished my pretentious traveler-not-tourist badge.
Islamic Cairo, as it did five years ago, represented a more intricate wonder of the world to me. The scope of history contained within it, the detail of its many doors and minarets, and the extraordinary and un-Cairene peace to be found in some of the mosques was all there from the first moment Casey went exploring.
In a twist, we met a guy named Ahmed who didn't want to sell us a damn thing. He led us on an alley-wise tour of the old city, chatting American geography and whatever else came to mind, then depositing us on the roof of the al-Mu'ayid Mosque, which we had all to ourselves and our cameras:
Looking out over the vast, serene interior of the place afforded us an opportunity to do exactly what Egyptians seem to think Americans are always doing, and spy on them...
...but let that be considered just a token instance for all the times they were wrong thereafter. It was a great experience, and we thanked Ahmed. But he didn't want money and wasted no time leading us through the dirty cobblestone streets past Naguib Mahfouz's favorite cafe to our next stop:
A game of backgammon with the locals. There's very little backstory here: I'm really bad at this game. I have played and lost backgammon three times, all against old Palestinian dudes, and each time I have left resolved to maybe learn the rules a little better. I didn't. Do not let my calculated ruminating deceive you here...
...the guy on the right stomped me from the start. I don't know how to keep score, but I think it may have been 18 to 2. Just when I needed sixes I rolled ones, prompting Ahmed to chortle and deem the effort a faashil, which translates directly to what you think: fail. I thanked my oppressor and we got on our way.
I would like to think opinion is split among wannabe Conscious Travel Afficionados like me about whether to support or deride "cultural shows." Probably most people are like me and avoid them with a sneer until they get invited to one for free. Everything is good when it's free. But this...
...was great. Sufi Muslims (the initiates are known as dervishes) dance and sing and recite the names of God to attain individual communion with him, and most of all they spin (or whirl, hence the "whirling dervish"). Most of the time they do it in private, some of the time they do it for an audience of white people. It is a form of prayer, which was to be kept in mind when some Sufis started posing conspicuously for pictures while spinning, but it's nothing if not celebratory. Apparently the Sufi orders in Turkey, Iran, and Syria only wear white to keep the ceremony solemn. Not so in Egypt:
The last important sight of Cairo, Tahrir Square, was blocked off by a continuous police cordon and tanks. We could not walk through it, but going around set off memories of al-Jazeera screens in my head from January and February. Slogging through Cairo's legendarily bad traffic, I chatted up plenty of taxi drivers who were proud to say where they were during the revolution: Tahrir Square, of course, and here's this bruise and this rock to prove it. It's a shame we couldn't bask more fully in its recent glory, but news reports of Hosni Mubarak's trial kept our two feet planted in the present (in a place where that isn't always easy). And that's the best I can say of the Egypt "situation" generally, too: it's in flux, with an election in October and a dictator on trial, and the variety of outlooks matches that of the possibilities. Nagui is convinced that Egypt needed the revolution but that it will be screwed by the well-organized Muslim Brotherhood for "ten to fifteen years" before a secular state emerges. A taxi driver of the more devout persuasion told me Mubarak is in hell already. Nothing is totally clear.
I am now writing from Eilat in Israel. After a six-hour journey through the Sinai and a nap's worth of sleepy half-glances at the forbidding desert, I crossed the border with only a few hiccups (or rather gulps, which I kept doing in classically nervous fashion when the specially designated Israeli Siren Force of Hot Border Ladies looked me straight in the eye and asked me what I was doing in the country), and I'll be back in Bethlehem tomorrow afternoon. From here on out, vacation time is over and work begins. It has been a beautiful three weeks in the Balkans, which Casey and I have enjoyed at times far too much. Our wallets are thinner than we'd like, but our perspectives broader. Now I think I'll grab a bite to eat and get some sleep, but please keep reading as I enter what promises to be a thrilling Palestinian fall.
Salamaat,
Brendan
I've been to Cairo before, but it wasn't like this. Looking back on five years ago reveals: it was winter, it was pre-revolution, I didn't speak Arabic, I was with my family, and we got scammed very easily. But thought it was a world away in most respects, Cairo was recognizable for what I would call its essence: the hazy, crazy, congested sprawl. It is not Athens, it is not "the West," and it is not easy.
Thankfully we had help. Our CouchSurfing host was a true cosmopolitan, a Copt and French teacher named Nagui whose name is traditionally preceded by "monsieur," even in conversation with his Arab friends. He's in the middle of this terrible picture...
...with another surfer on the left, Alejandro of Chile. Not pictured are his charismatic cats or his coterie of Frenchies, who he manages to keep around him all times of the year. Nagui was the perfect antidote to hectic Cairo--assiduously calm despite the traffic, funny and full of advice. Casey and I bantered with him on everything we could think of, and I tried in vain to revive the morsels of French I had picked up from travelers along the way.
Nagui's flat in Heliopolis was our staging point for two old tourist stand-bys and one new one: the Pyramids, Islamic Cairo, and Tahrir Square, respectively. Here's our report.
The Pyramids are just as scammy as ever, perhaps more because of the revolution's effect on Egypt's typically strong tourism sector. Casey and I avoided some (see above, the camel is named Charlie Brown) and fell for others...
...like this guy, who claimed hilariously to work for the government, usually took 200 Egyptian pounds ($35) for his services, but would be happy if we were happy. He led us around some less-touristed tombs...
...explained that he would be fired if anyone found out, and then threw himself on the ground and complained of sun sickness when he found out we wouldn't go above 80 pounds ($13), in itself a righteously good haul for his old ass. It turned out that speaking Arabic did not help us, but instead led us into a lot of "special price" situations. This kid, seen here drawing the layout of the pyramids on the ground...
...was so impressed with Arabic and my work in Palestine that he told us about a secret pyramid interior, which nobody knows about, but he would let us into for free. We obliged the dude at the entrance...
...with 10 pounds baksheesh (tip) and took a break from the baking sun inside a pyramid. There's a lot of awesome speculation that aliens built the things, but Casey and I refrained from discussing it with the stone-faced pyramid guy. He waited for us to quit muttering about how cool it was and led us out, reminding us to watch our heads over and over...
...and back we went into the waiting arms of our youthful would-be guide. It turns out that Muhammad, as he was named, was also a keen photographer specializing in the type of cheesy scenes we had to that point avoided. Would you a picture with you hand on top of the pyramid? Jumping over the pyramid? Picking up the pyramid? No, no, no! Welllll...probably in a silly mood from the 100-degree heat, we finally assented, resulting in these gems:
I have now officially relinquished my pretentious traveler-not-tourist badge.
Islamic Cairo, as it did five years ago, represented a more intricate wonder of the world to me. The scope of history contained within it, the detail of its many doors and minarets, and the extraordinary and un-Cairene peace to be found in some of the mosques was all there from the first moment Casey went exploring.
In a twist, we met a guy named Ahmed who didn't want to sell us a damn thing. He led us on an alley-wise tour of the old city, chatting American geography and whatever else came to mind, then depositing us on the roof of the al-Mu'ayid Mosque, which we had all to ourselves and our cameras:
Looking out over the vast, serene interior of the place afforded us an opportunity to do exactly what Egyptians seem to think Americans are always doing, and spy on them...
...but let that be considered just a token instance for all the times they were wrong thereafter. It was a great experience, and we thanked Ahmed. But he didn't want money and wasted no time leading us through the dirty cobblestone streets past Naguib Mahfouz's favorite cafe to our next stop:
A game of backgammon with the locals. There's very little backstory here: I'm really bad at this game. I have played and lost backgammon three times, all against old Palestinian dudes, and each time I have left resolved to maybe learn the rules a little better. I didn't. Do not let my calculated ruminating deceive you here...
...the guy on the right stomped me from the start. I don't know how to keep score, but I think it may have been 18 to 2. Just when I needed sixes I rolled ones, prompting Ahmed to chortle and deem the effort a faashil, which translates directly to what you think: fail. I thanked my oppressor and we got on our way.
I would like to think opinion is split among wannabe Conscious Travel Afficionados like me about whether to support or deride "cultural shows." Probably most people are like me and avoid them with a sneer until they get invited to one for free. Everything is good when it's free. But this...
...was great. Sufi Muslims (the initiates are known as dervishes) dance and sing and recite the names of God to attain individual communion with him, and most of all they spin (or whirl, hence the "whirling dervish"). Most of the time they do it in private, some of the time they do it for an audience of white people. It is a form of prayer, which was to be kept in mind when some Sufis started posing conspicuously for pictures while spinning, but it's nothing if not celebratory. Apparently the Sufi orders in Turkey, Iran, and Syria only wear white to keep the ceremony solemn. Not so in Egypt:
The last important sight of Cairo, Tahrir Square, was blocked off by a continuous police cordon and tanks. We could not walk through it, but going around set off memories of al-Jazeera screens in my head from January and February. Slogging through Cairo's legendarily bad traffic, I chatted up plenty of taxi drivers who were proud to say where they were during the revolution: Tahrir Square, of course, and here's this bruise and this rock to prove it. It's a shame we couldn't bask more fully in its recent glory, but news reports of Hosni Mubarak's trial kept our two feet planted in the present (in a place where that isn't always easy). And that's the best I can say of the Egypt "situation" generally, too: it's in flux, with an election in October and a dictator on trial, and the variety of outlooks matches that of the possibilities. Nagui is convinced that Egypt needed the revolution but that it will be screwed by the well-organized Muslim Brotherhood for "ten to fifteen years" before a secular state emerges. A taxi driver of the more devout persuasion told me Mubarak is in hell already. Nothing is totally clear.
I am now writing from Eilat in Israel. After a six-hour journey through the Sinai and a nap's worth of sleepy half-glances at the forbidding desert, I crossed the border with only a few hiccups (or rather gulps, which I kept doing in classically nervous fashion when the specially designated Israeli Siren Force of Hot Border Ladies looked me straight in the eye and asked me what I was doing in the country), and I'll be back in Bethlehem tomorrow afternoon. From here on out, vacation time is over and work begins. It has been a beautiful three weeks in the Balkans, which Casey and I have enjoyed at times far too much. Our wallets are thinner than we'd like, but our perspectives broader. Now I think I'll grab a bite to eat and get some sleep, but please keep reading as I enter what promises to be a thrilling Palestinian fall.
Salamaat,
Brendan
