Defeat in Alexandria

A week after I returned from Damascus (Oct. 7) Mommy came to visit. I was so so so happy to see her, I had been looking forward to her trip for a month and I couldn’t wait. Sometimes you just need your Mommy.

We planned to make a weekend trip so Mom could scuba dive – we had to choose between Sharm el Sheikh (a resort town) and Alexandria. We mistakenly chose the latter, Mom got an e-mail two days before we left saying President Hosni Mubarak would be visiting Alexandria and no boats were allowed out on the water because they were doing Navy exercises…or something.

Mom and I took a morning train to Alexandria. As always it was an adventure. Fake conductor-looking men offered to help us with our bags and we mistakenly allowed them, of course they wanted tips when we got to our seats. The ride itself went well, I got to see the Egyptian countryside – it’s very pastoral actually, I guess that’s thanks to the number of cotton farms.

We went right to the Sheraton where we were staying and took a nap. Haha it sounds ridiculous but Mom never gave herself time to recover from jet lag and I was exhausted from school. Careful of not sleeping for toooo long we decided to spend the afternoon studying (she had work to do for class too) at the Library of Alexandria. No, not the largest library in the world that burnt down in 48 BC but the one that was built in 2003 and has horrifically modern architecture. We purchased our tickets to get in, luckily with student discounts for both of us, and headed in only to be stopped by a security guard who told us we can’t bring our bags in. Fine. Whatever. We can bring our books in right? No. No books allowed in the library. I’m sorry, did you hear what you just said?!? So instead of studying in the library we set up camp in the cafe where we had some lunch. I ordered fish and chips. The fish was SOAKED in vinegar – so tart!

We eventually accepted our defeat for the day and went back and had a quiet night of studying at the hotel.

After our first day of two in Alexandria, even though I felt defeated (as I often do after a rough day of getting lost in Cairo) I really appreciated the city. It was so different from Cairo. The streets were so clean (they even had street cleaners and garbage cans! They’re hard to come by in Cairo) and it was a lot quieter than Cairo – a lot less horn honking, which was probably due to the fact that the driving was a little calmer as well. On top of that, I’ve never seen the Mediterranean Sea before. It was Crayola crayon blue aside from the turquoise in the shallows. It was beautiful.

The combination of city and sea was unlike any town I’ve ever been in. There are walls and beach huts that block the view of the sore from the street, which makes it feel less like a beach town. For me beach towns slowly become more and more beachy as you approach dunes. In Alexandria, it’s like you wonder out of the city and you smack right into sea. Even in New York the buildings get lower and lower and the city gets quieter as you approach the Hudson at most points. The Corniche – a main highway – drives right alongside the beach.

Last Days in Damascus

The day following my shopping excursion, UR and I went on a mosque tour — we only did the Umayyad and Iranian mosques, which are very different.

The Umayyad mosque was a Byzantine church before the Islamic conquest and it is said to hold the body of Saint John the Baptist. It is one of the largest in the world, with a courtyard that must have the area of two football fields, surrounding the ablution fountain where worshipers can clean themselves before entering the prayer space.

The Iranian mosque, which is known as the Shrine of Sayidda Zeinab (a granddaughter of Muhammad), is much smaller but the ceilings of the prayer space make up for what it lacks in size. When you first enter, the ceiling is covered with glass murals that make it mirror-like and literally dazzling. The shrine itself is within a gold mausoleum and above it the ceiling is made of porcelain tiles covered in Arabic script.

Clearly it seems as though I favor the latter, but really they were equally breathtaking. I loved seeing them so alive with people everywhere and children running around. It brought it all to life in a way that pictures can’t portray.

I had a low-key day on Monday and my flight left Damascus at 3am on Tuesday morning. Of course that was a hassle, but I arrived back in Cairo safe and sound.

After pretty much pulling an all nighter after a crazy Middle Eastern journey, I got home and went straight to class.

More adventures to come, no doubt.

All Grown Up

Maura and I designated an entire day to shopping in the suqs (the covered bazaar in Damascus) and rug shops. At the end of the day I couldn’t believe how much I’ve changed since I was last in Damscus, almost nine years ago. I have very vivid memories of a large room made to feel cluttered and tiny by the stacks and stacks of Persian rugs that surround us. I had been told that it’d be rude to refuse the tea I was offered and even more rude not to drink it. Not up for insulting the man that my mother was about to buy who knows how many rugs from, I lumped four teaspoons of sugar into my tiny, shot glass-sized cup of tea and sipped at it politely. The tea was bitter and I was bored out of my mind by the conversation, the topic of which has long escaped my memory. I just remember feeling tortured and quite miserable.

This time around, I couldn’t get enough-tea and conversation, that is. Maura took me to Amin’s shop (if you’ve been to our house, we have a beautiful inlaid game table Mom bought from him) and I was fascinated by the beautiful woodwork he does, the rugs with the tiniest detail and the copper and tin lamps that filled an entire room. The tea was delicious and Amin was so interesting to talk to. He seems to be the expatriates’ go-to-guy for Persian rugs and inlaid woodwork in Damascus. He should us a bench similar to one he made for Nancy Pelosi.

Later we stopped in to Hassan’s shop where Mom bought all of our beautiful embroidered tablecloths (she uses the deep red ones with gold stitching for holidays). I was expecting boredom similar to that experienced in the same shop nine years prior, but no such feeling came over me. Instead I puzzled over which patterns and colors to buy for souvenirs. I couldn’t believe myself. I had to convert more money into Syrian pounds to complete all of my purchases.

My shopping day ended with me anxious to go home. I couldn’t wait to get home to our house and take in all of Mom’s Damascene purchases and all the subsequent purchases they inspired. I feel like when I walk into our house again I’m going to have a newfound appreciation for all of it. Of course, I always knew Mom was a talented interior decorator but the whole Middle East style was never really my thing. Now I’m trying to think of what I can sneak out of our house to furnish my apartment next semester.

The Old City

I spent my third day, October 3rd, in the Old City of Damascus with Uncle Ray. Since he only arrived a month or so ago he hasn’t gotten his bearings yet so we spent the day wandering around, getting lost in the streets of the Old City.

We started out trying to walk toward a dome we saw from a distance, but soon forgot about that and found ourselves walking through the snake-like streets and paths that make up the Old City of Damascus. Streets linked to the Suq al Hamidiyeh, the big shopping bazaar at the center of town, become narrower and less crowded, eventually becoming vacant as we got further into the depths of the Old City. We would find ourselves in dead ends, the street signs-blue tin squares posted on the walls at the corners-would say “Cul-de-sac” but they were small courtyards in the middle of three story high, somewhat decaying buildings. Here’s a picture of one of them:

Uncle Ray and I joked that I was apartment hunting there because I loved Damascus so much and wanted to stay. We’d say “A two room condo overlooking the Mighty Barada River.” The Barada River flows through Damascus, but in the Old City it’s nothing more than a glorified stream.

Though we did joke it was sad to see how people lived. The buildings were decaying, some had lost their exterior and the ancient insulation was exposed. Despite these conditions, the children we saw running around always had those mischievous on their faces and families walked around, husbands hand-in-hand with their wives, smiling. Talk about seeing how the other half lives.

As we started to make our way home, after I was pooped on by a bird, we stopped for soda and coffee at Uncle Ray’s new hangout. Neither of us could decipher the name of it, but it’s a large two story restaurant with courtyard in the center—a great place to people watch. At one point two girls walked in and Uncle Ray said, “Oh there are those girls I winked at earlier.” I looked over to find two hijab-wearing girls, no older than 16, being seated. I nearly spit out my soda. He laughed and said, “I’m too old to be of any harm, I do that all the time.”

Ma’lula, where Aramaic is gasping for its last breaths

Older generations in Ma’lula speak Aramaic, the language spoken by Jesus and the original language that most of the Bible was written in. It’s considered an endangered language and Ma’lula, about an hour outside of Damascus, is one of very few towns with native speakers. I read a New York Times article, published in April, that said that the village’s elders still remember the days when Aramaic was the only language spoken, but the young generations, even people in their 60s speak Arabic at home and are only likely to learn Aramaic in special school programs. I think that’s really sad. Though it’s nice that they’re trying to preserve the language, teaching it in school is not going to revive it.

I spent the afternoon of my second day in Syria in Ma’lula but I didn’t hear any Aramaic spoken—that I know of—which was disappointing, but it was a remarkable town otherwise. It is built into the Lebanon mountains—literally. Homes at the top of the mountain have the walls of the mountain as walls of the home (here’s a photo from my Flickr account). We visited the Church of Saint Takla and her shrine, which is inside an open cave of the mountain.

The story goes that St. Takla, who was educated by Saint Paul, was fleeing from soldiers who were sent by her father, a pagan, to punish her for practicing Christianity. She got to a mountain and stopped to pray. After praying the mountain split open and let her escape through it. Apparently Moses does mountains too.

Despite not hearing Aramaic spoken, it was a great trip. On the way home Tony, our driver, pointed down an exit off the highway and said “That goes to Baghdad.” It is crazy to think that I am that close. I’m staying right off of the Auto Straat, a major highway that goes right into Beirut.

Fii Dimashq

I know there have been some moans and groans that I’ve been MIA from the blogosphere the last few weeks and I do apologize sincerely. School started on Sunday, September 7 and since then I haven’t done much that’s exciting…until today when I flew to Damascus. So I’ll skip the last few weeks and just focus on today before I forget everything.

I got up early to ensure that I made my 2:30 flight this afternoon. I made two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to “hold me up” and headed out the door with just a backpack and a duffle back that weighed in at 9.4 kg (about 21 lbs.). I was proud of my packing skills, but I fear I may be coming home with an extra bag of goodies.

The flight went smoothly, the plane must have been 1/3 empty—I had a row all to myself so that was a nice surprise. Maura was there to meet me right after we landed so she whisked me through the lines, well except for one when we just picked the wrong one.

Once we got to Maura’s house we heated up dinner and soon after headed out to Qasioun and Souk El-Hamidiyeh. Qasioun is a mountain at the edge of the city with a panoramic view of all of Damascus. I’ve seen cities from an aerial view before, but because it was nighttime and I could see the whole city without moving an inch I was just taken away. It was beautiful. The photo at the top of this page is from tonight’s trip to Qasioun.

Next stop was the Souk El-Hamidiyeh at the Umayyad Mosque. UR gave me a brief tour around, it will of course be busier during the day when all the shops are open, but it was plenty lively with people celebrating the holiday.

Tomorrow schedule includes a trip to a Christian town, Malula, where they still speak Aramaic. I can’t wait!

Finally found real Cairo

With my burgundy scarf covering my hair best it could, I bowed my head in thanks as the man opened the door to the stairwell for me. I approached the weathered, concrete, circular staircase with caution, recalling my fear of climbing back down, which I discovered earlier this year at the lighthouse in Key West. Unsure of who would be greeting me at the top, I was surprised when French tourists rounded the corner. Maardi Mosque didn’t seem like much of a tourist destination, what with its miniature golf course turf and unremarkable façade. I was comforted by the fact that they were descending unharmed and even rather excited, so I continued up.

When I emerged from the stairwell I found myself alone on the roof of the mosque, able to see the rooftops of Islamic Cairo. I ran around taking pictures and watching the busy streets below before I noticed the minaret. I approached the tower with excitement, I remembered Shareef mentioning climbing two staircases.

Halfway up the stairs in the minaret I found a balcony with the best view of the city I’ve seen yet. I was literally shaking with excitement. I could see the Al Azhar Park, the Citadel and Al Azhar Mosque all from one point. I could see a dozen domes of other mosques in the neighborhood. It was the most beautiful view I’ve ever seen.

It wasn’t until later that I realized why my adventure with Shareef made me so happy. I had finally found real Cairo. As I walked through the streets of Souk Saleh little children ran up to me and spoke the only English they knew “Hello! What’s your name?” And there mothers looked on, smiling. The dirt roads were not nearly wide enough for cars so mopeds sped through every now and then, but there was otherwise no sign of Western life. I had escaped the Cairo of Kentucky Fried Chicken and American pop stars and I had finally found real Cairo and the real people who lived there.

Shareef had found me about an hour earlier photographing the Al Rifa’i mosque. I had walked an hour and a half from Tahreer Square near the old AUC campus and this mosque was the first sign that I had finally made it into Islamic Cairo. At the top of one wall of the building, the stone seemed to be crumbling and the adjacent yard was full of garbage, leading me to assume that this mosque was no longer used.

Sharif, dressed in seemingly old jeans and once-stylish pointy leather shoes, corrected me, it was still used as a prayer space. His English was not very good, but he somehow communicated to me that he wanted to show me something. I looked around and found myself in a bustling neighborhood with plenty of people to intervene should I need rescuing from Sharif. And unable to pinpoint where I was on my map I welcomed a short tour of the area. And that is how I found myself with the best view of Cairo anyone can get.

Buuurrittani’s adventures near the Heliopolis Sporting Center

We moved into our hotel in Heliopolis on Friday, which unfortunately led to several mood swings. As we pulled up the hotel looked grand, white with molding everywhere and each room had a balcony, but since it’s a hotel for the armed forces, we couldn’t take any pictures. I got my room assignment and was lucky enough to choose my roommate and when I walked into the room it looked decent—a little small, but liveable. I went to turn on the air conditioner and wound up standing in soggy carpet. I went to open the closet and found rusty, dirty pipes. I went to open another closet and found that it was almost entirely hanging space…with no hangers. After a few days, I’ve accepted that it’s not so bad and it has equal pros and cons to the other dorm I lived in.

Living in the hotel has actually proven quite entertaining, though it’s hard to see the laughs when you’re in the moment. It’s all good in retrospect. For example, three friends and I went down to breakfast at the hotel’s restaurant on Saturday morning, famished, and were immediately brought a basket of rolls (hamburger rolls) and a plate of cheddar and cream cheese as well as slices of cucumber and tomato. Shortly thereafter we were brought just-egg omelets. We were served bottled water and handed the check for 57 Egyptian pounds. Not so funny when you’re picky Brittani and don’t like eggs or tomatoes or cucumbers, but now that I’m no longer hungry, I can see the awkward funniness of the situation.

The hotel got even better after breakfast that day. I decided to venture into Heliopolis on my own for the day, so after a few minutes of staring at my big Cairo street map and determining that I had no idea where exactly I was, I went to the reception desk and showed one of the men there my map and asked him to show me where we were. He seemed to be staring at it like I had—searching for a street name in a foreign language on a map of a neighborhood with at least 200 streets.

After a minute or two, his eyes lit up and he pointed to the Heliopolis Sporting Center, which takes up about a square inch of the map. Thinking that “Heliopolis Sporting Center” was code for Military Base and Housing, I said “Oh ok that’s where we are?” He shook his head and told me we’re near there. After another minute of browsing the map he circled his finger around an area of about 15 streets and said “We’re around here.” Apparently that was an ample answer. I thought the other man at the reception desk was getting up to get me a map of the area, but he brought back a flier. It’s all in Arabic but I’m almost positive it’s an advertisement for their banquet hall that they rent out.

So I deemed my map temporarily useless and headed out. It didn’t take long to find my way to Roxy Square, the hub of Heliopolis. At one point I did stop and sit down and take out my map, only to attract a passerby to help me. He asked “Where do you want to go?” I said, “I don’t have anywhere to go. I just want to know where I am.” Once I got him to understand that we had a good laugh. Of course, that was ruined when he said “Can I see you again?” and I said no and he said “You don’t want any friends?”

Along the way I had several men just say hello and ask for my phone number. One man was singing as we crossed the street near each other and as we reached the curb he said “English? What’s your name?” I told him and he asked for my phone number. I gave him a fake one, not having the heart to say no (don’t worry I’ve learned since then). Then he left! I just wonder how many random phone numbers like that he has in his phone.

Later on in the day I found Royal House, the Costco of Cairo. You walk down a flight of stairs and you’re simply overwhelmed by your options. My nose found a Cinnabon, my peripheral vision spotted housewares galore and right in front of me was a massive supermarket. The perimeter of the supermarket was lined with hole in the wall stores – a bookstore, a tiny Radio Shack, a women’s clothing store, a jeweler and who knows what else. I wandered the aisles, hungry, but so overwhelmed that I didn’t know what to eat. I wound up leaving with hangers for my closet and a growling stomach. But I’ll be back there to stock up on apples and peanut butter in the next day or two for sure.

American that I am, I had KFC for lunch. I don’t even like the stuff, but by the time I realized I was hungry that was all that was in sight for another mile or so. I ordered my food and asked for a fork and a knife. The cashier looked at me, confused, and said “Ketchup?” This wouldn’t be so funny if I hadn’t asked another cashier at another restaurant for salt the day before and been handed four packets of ketchup.

My walk home was eventful as well. A soldier that guards the street that our hotel is on saw me walking with my camera braced to my chest as always and said “No picture!” I told him I wasn’t taking any and he just kept yelling at me. I walked away and that seemed to solve the problem.

No long after I left the soldier, a man with a briefcase said “Hello!” as I walked by him. I said hello back and he asked where I was from. This led to a lot of talking about where we’ve traveled, what I’m studying, etc. He told me he’s a press counselor for the Ministry of Information, which could very well be an exaggerated title, but I was interested. He told me about the places he’s traveled and the languages he speaks, “I know Hebrew, French, Spanish and Portugish.” It took everything I had not to laugh at “Portugish.” He eventually asked my name and upon hearing “Brittani,” he looked puzzled and asked “But what are you called after you eat?” I asked him what he meant and he held his index finger and thumb very close together and said “Now you’re Brittani. But after you eat you are (he switches to a very deep voice and holds his hands up two feet apart) Buuurrittani.” I still don’t know what that meant, but I’ve gotten a good laugh after telling that story on more than one occasion.

Our bus stalled…14 times

I paid 140 Egyptian pounds to go on a trip to the pyramids today and it may be worth it just so I could tell the stories from the day. It took us much too long to get going this morning and the 90 of us arrived at the pyramids around 10:30. We were allotted 15 minutes at the first pyramid, Khafre’s pyramid, which was really frustrating, considering I stayed up most of the night reading about how exactly I should set up my camera and get great pictures for the day.

As we boarded the bus we found that three kids had abandoned us and gone to the Sphnix. Apparently they panicked and didn’t think they’d see it. That all caused a half hour delay.

At the second, Khufu’s pyramid, we were able to go inside. The sweat starts to drip off of you the moment you crouch down so you can fit into the 3 foot high tunnel. It was worth it though, we saw different alleyways going into different parts of the pyramid, which were of course forbidden. All the way in, about a 5 minute crouching walk, there is a large room where you can see where a tomb once laid. Pretty cool. As we walked up the tunnel, I was behind our 6’4” Resident Assistant and luckily it wasn’t until the last few steps that I thought about the consequences for me if he lost his footing. He didn’t.

The pyramids are swarming with vendors, each hawking their own fake papyrus or cheap postcards. Usually, they’re annoying. But as I walked back to the bus, one gave me a good laugh. A large group of us passed him at once and he yelled, excuse my French, “Fuckin hats! You want fuckin hat?” I decided to take a picture of him so I would remember him and he threw his arm in the air as I took it and said angrily, “Fuckin no picture!” I love it.

We packed up the bus again and headed to the top of the hill where we had a panoramic view of the three pyramids. We once again lost a group of kids and had to wait around for them. As we finally started moving, our bus stalled…at the top of the hill. The driver got it started as we rolled down and all seemed to be okay. Until it happened again, three times before we got to the Sphinx.

After our short stop at the Sphinx, we waited for the buses for a half hour, apparently they were filling up on gas. Our next stop was supposed to be Sakkara to see the step pyramids, but since Ramadan started on Sunday Sakkara closes at 3 p.m. and we were a half hour away at 2:30. Off to lunch we went.

The bus stalled fourteen times before finally throwing in the towel on a highway. I have some great pictures of 45 kids standing by the side of the road, causing quite the spectacle. But my favorite picture is the classic “Men Fixing Cars.” It features three men standing around the engine, with their hands on their hips, staring at it.

After only 25 minutes, the bus driver got back on the bus, armed with only a wrench, and got us going again. I was skeptical that the problem was solved and I said, “Somehow I doubt that a wrench fixed all of that.” But it did and we made it safely to our barbeque lunch, which was complete with Middle Eastern specialties on the buffet table and a small grill on each table. It hit the spot, but most of us were too exhausted to enjoy it. Most of my friends took naps as soon as we got back and haven’t been doing much since. What a day. I’m sure I’ll be back to photograph the pyramids in my own time, after Ramadan, when I can see them at sunset.

I went backwards and saved Sunday for last because it was largely uneventful. I slept in and went to City Stars mall in Nasr City. It’s huge, even by New Jersey/King of Prussia Mall standards. It’s six stories high and has 250 stores. I was too overwhelmed, yet again, to buy anything. It’s a good thing I have four months here.

We went to the Hard Rock Café (not my choice) for a friend’s birthday on Sunday night. The food was average, as expected, but the wait staff gave us a few good laughs, making it all worthwhile.

Well, I’m hopefully off to bed. We’ll see if I can fall asleep. I’m heading to downtown Cairo tomorrow to fix some things with my schedule and do some sightseeing.

As always, I miss and love you all!

A long, boring post (skip it!) haha. no, seriously. b-o-r-i-n-g

I’ve missed a few days due to a crappy internet connection, but I’ll do my best to backtrack and remember. I went to the old campus on Thursday and heard a lecture entitled “Egypt and the Egyptians,” which was basically about the pyramids and an astronomer who theorized that the pyramids were built at the land mass center of the world, meaning that if you were to calculated the amount of land mass north, south, east, and west of the pyramids you’d find them in the middle of it all. It was somewhat interesting, but not at all what I expected. Personally, I was hoping for a crash course on manners and behavior here, unfortunately it’s a trial and error process.

Following the lecture I decided to venture over to the Egyptian Museum, which is right across Tahrir Square near campus. “Right across” implies that it’s nearby, which it is, however it is not easy to get to. I’ll be posting photos on Flickr of the traffic around this square. Traffic in the whole country is insane, but trying to cross the street around Tahrir Square is nearly impossible. Especially if you’re sidetracked by kind Egyptian men. Two got me to check out their shops and one invited me to iftar with his family during Ramadan. Really, they’re so charming but you have to keep in mind that many are in search of a green card (as I’ve been told, anyway.)

After finally venturing across the street to the museum, I bought my 25 pound ($5) student ticket, got some photos of the façade of the building and went through the turnstile. Unfortunately I was soon informed that my camera was not allowed in and I would have to check it. Check my Nikon with strangers? I don’t think so. I sacrificed the $5 and left to find a taxi. I spotted a bridge and decided to get some good photos of the Nile and walk across.

On the other side I soon found I was on the wrong end of Zamalek (it’s an island in the middle of the Nile) and wandered around, attracting an 18 year old Egyptian boy. He repeatedly asked me if I needed directions and finally, after watching me try to unfold my map, he came up and asked me where I was going. Of course, he too was trying to get to the other end of Zamalek and would be happy to take me there. I hailed a cab after he got us going in the right direction and thanked him. He looked at me, confused, and got in the cab with me. When I tried to ask how much it would cost (you always have to ask beforehand or else they’ll rip you off) Islaam, my newfound friend, shook his head and said “No, no.”

I had a knot in my stomach the entire ride to my dorm. He got out with me. I tried to give him money for the taxi but he refused. I soon found out why – he asked for my phone number. I said I didn’t have an Egyptian mobile phone (lie). He asked if he could see me again. I said I didn’t have an Egyptian mobile phone to call him and quickly walked away, thanking him over my shoulder for the ride.

We had an orientation party at the new campus that night, which turned out to be a bust. The campus is magnificient and the neighborhood is so cool because absolutely nothing is actually built but is all under construction. It’s just very cool to see a city in the process of being constructed. Anyway, the band stunk, the food was bad, and the dance competition was lame so when someone got on the mike at 10 p.m. and said “We’re staying until 11:30 but if anyone wants to leave early there is a bus leaving now,” we all trampled over each other to race to the buses.

After some short turnaround time we headed out barhopping. The first bar, Deals, was my favorite, as they served popcorn instead of peanuts. Amazing. I ate three bowls by myself. We failed to find a second bar, making it a failed barhop. Someone ran into some locals at one point and invited himself and the rest of us to a house party (he asked if there was anything to do, they said we’re having people over and he said “can we come?” haha). It was pretty cool to hang out with locals, but they’re apartment was repulsive (cigarette butts on the floor, bottle caps everywhere) so I headed out a bit early.

Sorry for the boring post, I have to regurgitate my day and record it or else I’ll go home and have no recollection of my time in Egypt.