Nou byna twee jaar gelede het ek gaan totsiens se vir ‘n vriendin in die hospitaal. Nie in soveel woorde nie, maar beide van ons het geweet. Tog, het ons lekker gesels oor haar lewe.

Rosalind, het sy vir my gesê, ek was in 50 lande in die wêreld. “Dit was wonderlik. Ek het die wereld gesien. Ek is oor niks spyt nie. Jy moet probeer om dit ook te doen. Soveel jy kan.”

Ons het gelag oor haar ervarings. Haar woorde oor Egipte: “Al wat verkeerd is met Egipte, is die Egiptenare,” het sy gesê.

Vandag verlang ek weer na haar, juis oor haar stelling.

Ek vra vir julle hoe kruis ‘n mens die pad? Hoe? O ja, die karre staan nie stil nie, hulle ry, en vinnig ook. Dit is die probleem

Die annder kant is ook vol…

Ry in ‘n ‘taxi’ ……

Lus vir bietjie shopping, fok waar issie mall? daar issie ‘n mall nie madam (okay het geweet daar is nie ‘n mall nie)

We are on our second swine flu break.  Classes are cancelled until December 6th.  This is a good time to catch up on classwork, get ahead of classwork, and hopefully, go do some traveling.  Here are a bunch of pictures that don’t really have a place anywhere else.

On taxi trips, cab drivers often stop to pick up some more cigarettes or a snack.  Here, there is a small shop on the side of the road that caters to these quick stoppers.

Like any college, there are lots of postings found around the campus.  Here, some information on what the appropriate amount to donate for Eid.

It isn’t smart to drink the water that comes out of the faucet.  I boil it, fill water bottles, and refrigerate.  I got behind in the cycle, and my empties started to pile up.

Found this graffiti in a bathroom in the library.  I don’t know what the author thinks sucks.  AUC is a really nice campus.

Smoking indoors is not a big deal in Egypt.

A well-adorned boat on the Nile.

عرض جميع نتائج البحث في الويب لـ صور الباك الإسلامي

UFO spotted in Kuwait?

Posted: 24-11-2009 , 13:51 GMT

Two men in Kuwait told local media that they spotted what they called a “flying saucer.”The UFO, one man said, first appeared on the 10th of November and resembled an illuminated halo. The second man, a government employee, spotted a UFO nine days later. After reading of the UFO account by the first man, he decided to report the incident to the police, saying it matched the description of the first man. The body carries the same attributes mentioned by Failakawi [the first identifier], it contains considerable light in the middle and is lined with small lights,” Kuwaiti daily Al Rai quoted the second man as saying.     The man also told reporters that the object flew horizontally before disappearing behind a condominium in the Sabah al Salem area.   Despite reports in Kuwaiti media, no photos or recordings have been provided as proof of the two citings. Nevertheless, the two men and several supporters have defended what the men saw, saying two identical descriptions by strangers cannot be a coincidence.   Others, however, have argued that the men merely witnessed solar reflections from small meteorites. © 2009 Al Bawaba (www.albawaba.com)

سفير مصر بالجزائر يعود للقاهرة “للتشاور”

Triple impact and female kickboxing  

Search Results

نجلا الرئيس مبارك، علاء وجمال، كانا ضمن مشجعي المنتخب المصري بمباراة الخرطوم

القاهرة، مصر (CNN)– أعلنت وزارة الخارجية المصرية الأحد، أن سفير مصر لدى الجزائر عبد العزيز سيف النصر، عاد إلى القاهرة مساء السبت بعد استدعائه “للتشاور”،، وقدم تقريراً لوزير الخارجية أحمد أبو الغيط، حول “الاعتداءات” التي تعرض لها مصريون بالجزائر.

وقال المتحدث باسم وزارة الخارجية، حسام زكي، إن “التقرير أوضح ملابسات الاعتداءات التي تعرضت لها بعض المؤسسات والشركات المصرية بالجزائر، وما تعرض له عدد من المصريين هناك، من عمليات تخويف وترويع”، في أعقاب المواجهة بين منتخبي البلدين، ضمن التصفيات المؤهلة لكأس العالم.

ونقلت وكالة أنباء الشرق الأوسط أن السفير سيف النصر “تلقى عدة توجيهات في هذا الصدد، من وزير الخارجية”، مشيرة إلى أن الوزير وجه مجدداً بـ”تسخير كافة إمكانيات السفارة للتواصل بشكل مستمر مع أعضاء الجالية المصرية في كافة أنحاء الجزائر، بهدف معالجة أية مشكلات يتعرضون لها.”

وكانت الخارجية المصرية قد استدعت سفير الجزائر بالقاهرة عبد القادر حجار الخميس، لتقديم “احتجاج شديد اللهجة”، كما أبلغته “استياء مصر البالغ من الاعتداءات التي تعرض لها المواطنون المصريون الذين توجهوا إلى الخرطوم لتشجيع الفريق المصري على أيدي المشجعين الجزائريين.”

ووصفت القاهرة “الاعتداءات” على المشجعين المصريين لمنتخبهم الوطني لكرة القدم في السودان، وعلى المصالح المصرية في الجزائر، بـ”الوحشية.”

وكان الرئيس المصري حسني مبارك قد خصص غالبية خطابه أمام البرلمان السبت، للحديث عن “الاعتداءات” التي تعرض لها عدد من المصريين، قائلاً إن “مصر لن تتهاون مع من يسيء إلى أبنائها”، مؤكداً أن “حماية المصريين في الخارج هي مسؤولية الدولة.”

وفي وقت سابق، كلف مبارك الوزير أبو الغيط، باستدعاء سفير الجزائر بالقاهرة، حيث نقل إليه مطالبة مصر للجزائر بأن تتحمل مسؤولياتها في حماية المواطنين المصريين الموجودين على أراضيها، ومختلف المنشآت والمصالح المصرية بالجزائر.

وتأهل المنتخب الجزائري لبطولة كأس العالم “جنوب أفريقيا 2010″، بعد فوزه على نظيره المصري بهدف دون رد، في المباراة الفاصلة التي جمعتهما بالخرطوم الأربعاء الماضي، والتي جاءت بعد أيام على فوز منتخب مصر على نظيره الجزائري بهدفين نظيفين بالقاهرة، مما اضطر المنتخبين للجوء إلى مباراة فاصلة.

وشهد حي “الزمالك” الشهير بالقاهرة مظاهرات غاضبة مساء الخميس الماضي، أمام مقر السفارة الجزائرية، احتجاجاً على “الاعتداءات” التي تعرض لها مصريون في الخرطوم والجزائر.

Womens International

MuayThai

WIN Sandra Bastian
Decision

In a battle featuring two of the top female athletes in the world, Canada’s Sandra Heart Bastian squared off against Britain’s Anna The Ginger Warrior Zucchelli. Zucchelli was coming off winning the IFMA European Championships in Latvia in May. The bout opened with Zucchelli spending most of her time delivering probing low tiips at Bastian’s lead knee. Though none landed successfully, Zucchelli was to continue to attempt to apply pressure at the Canadian. During the first round Zuchelli was to throw long range kicks that appeared to have her holding back on her power. In the first clinch of the two athletes, Zuccelli managed to spin and dump Bastian to the canvas – only once during the match. At the end of the first round Bastian was to admit that she had seriously injured her shoulder, and after the fight it was confirmed to be a torn muscle grouping.

The remainder of the fight see-sawed back and forth between the two athletes. Zucchelli continued to try and move forward, and surprisingly it appeared her power did not increase in her kicks. Bastian did not have her usual pizzazz in this bout and spent most of her time counter striking. The opening of the bout appeared stronger for the British girl, while the last rounds appeared more successful for the Canadian. The decision went to Bastian.

“I do not mean to sound terrible, but both of the two athletes looked like they were ‘off’ on this day. Neither athlete appeared to carry power in their shots. The decision surprised me because personally, I felt that Zucchelli could have swung the bout had she come up with a heartier performance. However, the officials scored it differently. All of these officials have participated in judging seminars conducted by the UK’s Tony Myers, so they understand the scoring system as well. Mr. Judd protested the decision, and I feel that as a coach he did the right thing. Regardless of the outcome of the bout, these two athletes will have to meet again, as I am sure Zucchelli wants revenge and I know Sandra will want to redeem herself as well. Fullest respect to Anna Zucchelli and her coach Bill Judd”, said Bastian’s coach Mike Miles.

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Upon arriving in the oasis town of Bawiti we headed deep into the lush palm groves in order to find a suitable campsite. Thankfully a large hand painted sign soon loomed out of the darkness proclaiming that the Desert Rose Eco Lodges were located just 100 metres from the sand covered road. With our interest pricked we pulled up outside the bland gatehouse and rang the dusty bell.

We were soon greeted by two bumbling idiots who proceeded to lurch awkwardly from one light switch to another, before failing miserably in their attempt to unlock the doors to the surrounding lodges. In this frantic hive of inactivity we were afforded a little time to take in our surroundings – a dangerous pastime.

Upon closer inspection it turned out to be a luxury courtyard of self-contained lodges each boasting a four-poster bed, an ensuite, a sofa bed and an ornate writing desk.  Clearly this was going to be out of our price range however the lodges were deserted which would hopefully act in our favour.

Mansourd, the suave manager, arrived straddling a carpeted motorcycle piloted by his able assistant and one time Nobel Peace Prize winning chef. I’m sure you’ll agree that this is a rather bizarre claim but one which we chose not to question in order to protect the fine balance between the key holder and we the weary desperados.

The manager’s opening gambit saw him slap a fairly reasonable offer on the table which primarily consisted of the following numbers; 2-3-0. However, after a heated discussion we found ourselves just 150 Egyptian pounds lighter and looking forward to spending an enjoyable night cloaked in luxury.

Needless to say Mansourd’s handshake was distinctly limper than his initial fevered greeting.

The city was Cairo, with her mud brick buildings that hugged the ground like they were afraid they’d fly away. I was assigned there by the University; or should I say by some impotent balding professor who didn’t like the way I was eyeing his daughter. Ah well, I should be grateful. If he’d have known the two of us were doing the nookie before I was shipped off… well, I’d probably be looking for dinosaur bones in Antarctica.

Look the name’s Ben, Benny Maine. Been into Archaeology since I was a babe. I guess you could say I was born into it; my mother was a researcher at the same university I was kicked out of, and my father an archaeologist. They met during class and fell in love, as lovebirds do, and their dreams of a peaceful and trouble-free existence were shattered when they had me, old Benjamin Leonardo Maine. See I was a handful to say the least; if there was a tree anywhere within five blocks of home, I’d climb it. No wall or fence could keep me from trouble; I was a rascal and my parents aged prematurely just trying to keep me safe. I remember one time my poor Aunt Gracie was babysitting me while my parents went out to watch a moving picture. She was a dear old lady who thought the world of me, and one hot summer day she’d asked me as I was playing out in the yard if I wanted some lemonade. Now, Aunt Gracie may not have been a popular old bird, but she sure knew how to make good, honest lemonade. So of course I said yes, but being the devilish troublemaker I was, I attached the hose to the outside tap and hid behind the corner of our old mansion. As Aunt Gracie came out through the back door looking for me, I jumped out, turned the nozzle on her and drenched her head to toe in water.

Of course she was unimpressed, and I spent most of my remaining summer locked up in my room as punishment.

Well it seems I’m rambling. I get that from my dad. But you gotta give me some credit. It’s hard to concentrate under this oppressive sun. The sun turns your clothing into stifling blankets and your head underneath that hat into your very own mobile sauna. But don’t even think about taking that hat off, or wearing lighter clothing, because the sun will cook you like a sausage on a barbeque. But it’s not all bad. The nights here are magical. It’s always cool, and the sky is always clear. The stars twinkle with a nonchalance I wish I could emulate, and there’s this breeze that seems to come from everywhere that just blows your discomfort away.

And it was at night when I was sat on a deck chair, laid out flat on my back admiring the view. Behind me were a bar and a live band that belted out the sounds of Billie Holiday and Bert Williams, reminding me of the local speakeasy I used to frequent back in Chicago. Around me were people of like mind, either swaying to the tune or speaking amongst themselves. Not too many to be crowded, but not too little to be lonely, either. I raised my hand, holding an empty martini glass.

“Another drink for the American!”

I smiled and gestured with my hand to show my appreciation. Then I sighed and continued to gaze at the stars. You know, this may not have been such a bad transferral after all.

Helluva way to spend the grant money, that’s for sure.

By the time we had reached the entrance to the tomb the ticket office had closed preventing us from entering possibly one of the greatest wonders of the world. However, as I’m sure many of you are aware that when travelling you become infinitely more cunning. So after a little money changed hands we were ushered down the steep and rather narrow entrance tunnel.

The deathly silence one associates with the resting place of the dearly departed was rudely shattered by a roaring air-conditioning system crudely tacked to the carefully crafted stone work of the towering pyramid. Descending the dusty, cramped tunnel we could only assume we were entering a coal seam manically mined by an army of midgets.

The end result was a simple rectangular room housing a small stone tomb. My advice would be to keep your loose change firmly in your pockets.

Malak El Ezzawy, one of our favorite local evening wear designers, tributes the “Little Black Dress” this fall with her limited edition collection.  What I love, is that it is a perfect addition to my LBD post (posted a couple of weeks ealier, click here).  As mentioned before, the LBD transcends time and trends and is the perfect “throw it on and still look chic” dress.  A staple in every woman’s wardrobe, just like a man’s white chemise.  Below is a sample preview of her limited edition collection, more on this Facebook link, and in store at the Melodies Atelier at 24 Tharwa St., Mohandeseen, ground floor.

Malak’s LBD collection is full of lace, as we call it in Egypt, dentelle.  The dress below worn by Menna Shalaby is a dentelle top with a chiffon and tulle skirt and a sexy low back.

Menna Shalaby wearing Malak's LBD

This LBD is the perfectly structured tube dress, which I believe, will be flattering to many.  The dress is very futuristic (which I don’t usually like, but this is cool).  I also love how the designer utilized both polka dot and stripped prints on one canvas.

Polka Dot & Stripped Structured LBD

This matte paillette, aka sequined, one shoulder LBD is IT! The fall season is all about embellishment & sequins, in addition to asymmetric dresses.  I guess this LBD is an ALL-IN-ONE must have!

Matte Paillette One Shoulder LBD

I decided to end this post on the perfectly simple, yet sexy, LBD.  The uniqueness of this dress comes not only from its simplicity but its texture.  Velvet is a material that faded away for a while, but is back it style and feels very rich.

Perfect Velvet LBD

Lors des RIDM à Montréal, je suis allée voir le touchant documentaire Garbage Dreams. La cinéaste Mai Iskander a filmé avec un regard juste et jamais complaisant, des jeunes garçons qui habitent dans les bidonvilles du Caire, en Égypte. Le portrait, tissé sur plusieurs années, raconte leurs espoirs et leurs rêves, leurs luttes et leurs peurs. Tout en finesse devant un drame qui écrase pourtant les 60 000 habitants de ce quartier pauvre égyptien, on découvre comment les Zabaleen (nom donné aux habitants de ce quartier) trient et recyclent 80% des poubelles du Caire depuis des années. Et comment le gouvernement Égyptien décide de moderniser le traitement des déchets, en implantant un système de collecte à l’occidentale, qui dépose les déchets dans des dépotoirs, et recycle un mince 20% des détritus…

Mojattam street (Photo tirée du site du film)

Courtesy of kids with Cameras, Our Cairo Neighbouhood, by Diminiana, 11 ans

The other night we went downstairs to visit our doorman’s family (see other story).  One of the girls of the family, Hibba, was having a birthday, and wanted us to come down. Due to her mom’s health, still having trouble recovering from her brain surgery, Hibba wasn’t able to have a party, but it seemed important for us to at least stop by.  It was kind of an awkward time as I think Hibba was busy doing things for her mom and she wasn’t around much.  We ended up sitting at her mom’s bedside and talking a little bit with her as she drifted in and out of sleep. 

There was one other member of the family present most of the time, and that was the four year old, youngest child and only son, Omar.  Now, if you ask Emma, she’ll probably tell you Omar is one of her friends.  He is the first child we met here at our apartment, and they have played together a few times.  He was the only child to attend her three-year old birthday party as we held that a couple weeks after moving into our apartment.  I have invited him to our apartment numerous times to play, but his whole family–sisters, mom and dad–have all said that, no, he can’t come, because he is a naughty boy… in their words, a “satan.”  (Now, this may just be a language/cultural thing that I don’t understand, but if a child is misbehaved and somewhat or very out of control, they are called “shaytaan,” which translates “devil or Satan.”  I don’t think it’s quite literal, but as one not a part of the culture, I kind of hear it as literal.) I feel bad that he has this stigma, but truthfully, I have seen it exhibited.  However, I still wish he could come to our house to play sometimes.  On the selfish side, it would be so much easier for me to be in my own place with the kids, but on the positive side, I, perhaps proudly, feel that I could handle him in our house.  I wouldn’t let him get away with things, and he would have no choice but to stay within our boundaries … or leave.  I may be naive in thinking that my “child-raising techniques” could work with him, but I guess that the challenge would be fun too.  Anyway, regardless of my lofty ambitions, his family doesn’t want him to come to our place.  This means Emma’s chance to play with him is down at his house. 

One of the things that makes it difficult for me to take the girls there is that so much of their property is outside, with lots of dust, dirt and animal droppings, not to mention miscellaneous trash that attracts Hannah’s attention.  I have a hard time sitting, drinking tea, and listening to the mom talk, while keeping one eye on Hannah and the other eye on Emma.  Now that the weather is getting cooler, it may be easier as we move inside, but that has its challenges too.  And this particular visit, the challenge was Omar. 

When we arrived at the house, the birthday girl was busy, but Omar quickly ran to some special spot outside, and retrieved a large bag of mostly broken toys and toy parts.  He seemed excited to show Emma his toys and play together.  Take note that he did play in our house during Emma’s party and enjoyed the two boxes of unbroken toys that she has.  So, at first, he took the toys out one by one and seemed to let Emma and Hannah play with them as they wished.  At one point, he pulled out a pair of binoculars and this grabbed Emma’s attention.  She asked for them, but he put them around his neck instead.  No big deal, they are his toys, he certainly doesn’t have to share.  Emma really wanted to play with the binoculars and made her request known the best she could without really speaking the same language as him.  It seemed that the more interested she was in what he had, the more he wanted to withhold things.  I think at one point, either I or his sister conviced him to let Emma hold the binoculars, but after about 10 seconds, he started to cry.  Now, I’ve seen this before with him … he is finally convinced to share something, then he starts to cry, and his sister says, “sorry Emma, I’m so sorry.”  Meaning: Omar wants something; you can’t play with it any more … give it back.  So, she gave the binoculars back at which time he put all the toys back in the big bag, and stuffed the bag under the bed as far as could reach.  Emma looked at me sadly, “why is he doing that?”  Hmmm, what to say.  “Because he’s a spoiled brat.”  “Because he is mean.”  “Because he is a bully.”  These were the responses that came to my mind immediately, but I don’t want Emma to see him as the “Satan” that people say he is.  (By the way, they call him this to his face as well, so he has a reputation to live up to.)  So, I thought about it awhile, and said, “I’m really sorry, Emma, that Omar isn’t being very kind right now.  It’s not nice to not share your toys.  But they are his toys, and he can do with them what he wants.  You know what else, his mom is very sick, and he is probably sad, but he can’t understand what’s happening.  I’m sorry it makes you sad, I would be sad too.” 

I hope that was a good answer for Emma.  I know I can’t protect her forever from getting hurt by others, but of course, I want to as long as I can.  I want her to learn from kids who aren’t nice, that it’s exactly that, “not nice.”  At least this way, it’s useful for something to interact with kids like this.  Maybe it will prevent Emma from being mean in the future.  But really, what’s most important?  I want her to see Omar as a person who isn’t perfect, but deserves our love and kindness, regardless of what he does.  Sure, that’s the ideal, but in such a simple offense, we can do that.  As Emma grows and the offenses do too, that will get harder and harder.  I pray God gives us wisdom to help Emma learn these things, as we do too.  We all have a long way to go.

Daca in mod normal pretul unui bilet dus-intors Bucuresti-Cairo la Tarom este in jur de 400 de euro, putem spune ca pretul de 98 de euro este o super oferta.

Oferta este valabila pana pe 29 noiembrie (data cumpararii), biletele pot fi utilizate in perioada 23 noiembrie-13 decembrie 2009, iar biletele pot fi cumparate din agentii de turism sau direct de pe site-ul Tarom (click pe link).

We five skin flints opted to save a little cash by travelling the streets of Cairo in a single cab. During our ‘staycation’ we attempted a variety of seating arrangements each as uncomfortable as the last. To save time I’ll give you a short run down of our attempts to enjoy the numerous and rather tortuous city journeys.

Seating arrangements:

Two in the front & four in the rear.
Three in the front & three in the rear.
Two in the front, three in the rear and one sat on the laps of the three in the rear.
Two in the front, three in the rear and one in the boot.
Two in the front, three in the rear and one sat on the open windowsill of the door.

Results:

Numerous dead legs.
Several electric shocks from dodgy wiring found beneath the dashboard.
One near miss with a passing cyclist.
One extremely hot boy in the boot.

Some people are just born stupid; we call them special. Others though, they get dumb on their own. They read things like Karl Marx, or Ayn Rand, or the Bible, take them a bit too seriously, and then decided that they have the answer to all of life’s problems. Even worse, they usually try to tell other people about their “intellectual” or “spiritual” discoveries as if I give a shit how John Galt would feel about Obama’s stimulus package. I met one of these types in the airport on Saturday.

The conversation started innocently enough. I was waiting at the bank to exchange my remaining Lebanese Lira into Egyptian Pounds; there was no employee at the bank, of course, because of the soccer game, and it took about 20 minutes for one to arrive. In the meantime, a pretty average looking white guy, somewhere around my parents’ age, came up and leaned against the counter next to me. Wearing faded khakis, hiking boots, a baseball cap and a Patagonia jacket, he looked to be more of an experienced traveler than most of the American idiots that pass through the Cairo airport en route to an air-conditioned bus, a 4-star hotel, the Pyramids and beyond. Well, why not strike up a conversation?

As it turned out, he was trying to get to the same hotel, the Meramees, where Ben and I stayed for our first week in Cairo before the program (coincidentally, the last time I actually truly enjoyed being in Egypt- thanks Middlebury!). The Meramees is in downtown Cairo, a neighborhood that really qualifies as a “downtown” in name only, as its crumbling Parisian buildings are now mostly empty save for budget hotels. The Meramees, though, was a rather nice place; we met some cool people, and for $10 a night each, we scored a private room, free wifi, and a hearty breakfast of hot dog buns and tea.

The Meramees was nice, but this is still Egypt, so of course they forget to send the airport pick-up guy for my new friend. He now faced the same dilemma as me: stuck in the airport of one of the biggest cities on earth without any taxis or even bank employees to exchange money. Since I live here, I thought I’d give him some advice. “Talk to the Egyptian guy holding the Canadian Hostel sign; it’s on the same block as the Meramees, and you could probably bum a ride for a small price.” Sure enough, I was right and the guy agreed to take him if he waits around for another half-hour for the next passenger.

So we continued to wait for the bank to open and kept talking. He told me his itinerary for his time in Egypt: a few days in Cairo, the Pyramids, Southern Egypt and its ancient temples, the Sahara, and the Sinai. All in all, pretty bush league tourist shit. After Egypt, he was headed to Israel, Jordan, and Syria respectively. I warned him to do Israel last, obviously, to avoid any visa issues in Syria. He asked if he’d have any problems getting into Israel after Syria, and I told him, “Of course not, you’re an American. Israel’s like our 51st state.”

And then thing got interesting. “Well,” he says, “Israel might not let me in if they know about my record, know what I’ve done.” The sense of foreboding in his voice was palpable. “I’ve been arrested… by the American government.” Well shit, son. I’m just standing there in front of this mild-mannered middle-aged traveler, and it turns out he’s been arrested by the government. The tone of his voice was just begging me to ask what he did, but I avoided the inevitable for a few painfully awkward seconds.

I racked my brain. Arrested? Well, plenty of people get arrested. It’s the only way to get street cred, bro, and apparently you have it. By the government? Hmm, I don’t know who else can arrest you. I mean, you can’t get arrested by the movie theater or the Taco Bell, so isn’t mentioning the government is a bit redundant? One of the three characteristics defining any modern nation-state is the government’s monopoly over the use of force (and thus police powers) within its sovereign territory. Duh, anyone who’s ever read Weber knows that.

He must be a sex offender. Every time I hear of someone getting arrested for an undisclosed reason, I automatically assume that it’s a sex offense. Why? Maybe it’s the endless hours I spent in high school watching Dateline NBC’s To Catch A Predator with Chris Hanson. Maybe it’s the fact that the middle school math teacher who ran the ball-handling station at my elementary school basketball camp ended up running his own ball-handling station in the basement of his bachelor pad. Who knows? More likely, it was the fact that this guy was so soft spoken and nice, and everyone knows that mild-mannered men are far more likely to commit egregious sex offenses. And then, when they get caught, everyone is shocked because he “was so nice- a churchgoer and a family man!”

The reality, however, was far less terrifying and far more intriguing: my new “friend” was an anarchist! Whew, I guess he won’t chop me up and wear my head as a hat for the long drive through the desert from Cairo to Sharm al-Sheik!

He digressed: “Yeah man, so the government’s been all over us lately out in Berkeley. We have an anarchist bookstore, the FBI raids it like every other week. It’s cause they’re afraid, man. They know that the people are a-talkin’, that we’re not gonna bow down to their police state anymore. As for me, yeah, I was arrested last-year when they knocked our tree-sit down. We had a tree sit in Berkeley, ya know, to prevent developers from being able to uproot these trees and build on the lot. We’d been sittin’ in the trees for a while, got a ton of support from the counterculture community out here. And then the Feds came in and told us to get out, and we didn’t, so we all got arrested. Now the government has all my information, and I know they’re following me. America’s a police state, most people just don’t realize it, man.”

A tree-sit, I thought, well that’s pretty fucking retarded! That’s almost as dumb as getting arrested at a country music concert for having an open container! I understand when people do tree-sits down in the Amazon, because jungles are awesome. But come on, dude, we’re talking about developing a plot of land in one of the most densely populated urban areas in the United States. They weren’t trying to bulldoze the Giant Seqouias or the Coastal Redwoods. Moreover, don’t you have a job!?!

If I had bigger balls, I probably would have spoken my mind at this point, to the effect of: “Listen here boy. Where I come from, men sit in trees for only one reason: killing. That’s right, boy. Every fall my friend JP spends one day, two days, maybe even three in a tree in the woods, hoping to God that he gets just one shot to rip an exit wound the size of a basketball into Bambi’s papa with a .357 hollow point round. After castrating and gutting the beast, he drags its carcass to his pick-up truck and drives home. If he’s lucky enough to kill a trophy buck, he’ll cut its fucking head off, hang it up in his living room, and drape a Terrible Towel or two from the antlers. Even if the buck ain’t got no impressive rack, he’s earned the right to take the carcass to a fine, family-owned and operated meat processing business where it will be turned into an array of delicious meat products: venison steaks, ground venison patties, jerky, and party sticks. After feasting on this veritable buffet of delicious meat, he’ll return to his job, where he makes daily contributions to America’s GDP.”

He would probably object to this with something about how deer have feelings too, and I’d have to continue: “Oh, you say you’re a vegetarian? Well, consider this: in the words of the beautiful and intelligent Sarah Palin, ‘If God had not intended for us to eat animals, how come He made them out of meat?’ What, you don’t believe in God or Sarah Palin? The GDP is a social construction invented by the corporation who intend to enslave us all?? I’ve had enough of this nonsense, boy, I hope you take a nature hike in Pennsylvania State Game Lands next fall wearing a deer costume. I’ve heard the foliage is especially nice on the Monday after Thanksgiving.”

Alas, I did not say this, as the only thing smaller than my testes satchel is this guy’s brain. Instead, I offered him some sarcastic condolences for his plight with the government (“Sorry maaaaan, that sucks, duuuude”), and we continued our conversation. I told him about how Egypt sucks in general, and then he asked where I was from in America. “Pittsburgh, the greatest city on Earth”, I told him proudly.

“Ohh, Pittsburgh…” he began. “Wasn’t there some big international conference in Pittsburgh recently?”

“Yeah, the G20. Obama was there,” I answered.

“Yeah, I read about that conference. The security was outrageous, the National Guard and everything. They clamped down on the protests before the meetings even began. They wouldn’t even let people within miles of the convention center. Ya know, that’s really outrageous. Thousands of people descended on Pittsburgh that weekend, anarchists from all over. They we’re planning something big, ya know, really show these world leaders that the people are serious of revolution. And then the National Guard came in and just arrested a bunch of them, preemptively. The Pennsylvania State National Guard and the Feds, working together. Same thing happened at the political conventions last year. The anarchists, they don’t want to hear our voice. And more importantly, they don’t want other people to hear our voice.”

Awkward silence. I explained how the layout of the city of Pittsburgh necessitated the tight security situation. The convention center is located near the tip of a peninsula, effectively bordered on two of its three sides by river. A bit vulnerable if something serious was to actually happen.

“Ya know, I was reading this article on Democracy Now! that laid down some history about Pittsburgh. You know Democracy Now!?

I nodded stupidly, flexing my knowledge of leftist media outlets.

“So yeah, in Democracy Now! they were talking about this one time, in history, when the government’s Army tried to come into Pittsburgh to exert its authority. And back then, the people of Pittsburgh resisted it. They demonstrated in the streets, they revolted against the agents of the government. The PA National Guard actually took up arms against the Army. Yeah, back then people had principles. I don’t know what’s happened, man. Now we have the PA National Guard working alongside the Army, suppressing revolution.”

His examples were so non-specific, his reasoning so nonsensical; I had no clue what he was talking about. I racked my brain again. Big demonstrations in Pittsburgh… Hmm, well we just won the Super Bowl. Oh yeah, and the Stanley Cup. Oh yeah and that other Super Bowl back in 2005. Shit, and like four more Super Bowls and two more Stanley Cups and five World Series titles and shit, Pittsburgh is awesome! I bet there were huge demonstrations for those. But requiring military intervention. Hmm… there was the Homestead Strike in the late 19th century, but I’m pretty sure that was put down by the PA National Guard. The Civil War? Nope, we were with the government on that one. And then I had it… the Whiskey Rebellion! 1794!

This idiot was actually citing the Whiskey Rebellion of 1794! For those of us unfamiliar with this important historical event, in 1794, George Washington decided to place a tax upon whiskey to help pay off the debts incurred in the Revolutionary War. Back then, just like today, Pittsburghers liked their booze, and they were none too pleased about this tax. Backed by the PA National Guard, they refused to pay; the government sent in a squad of tax collectors, all of whom were promptly tarred and feathered. The government responded in kind by raising an army and sending it to Western PA, where it met no resistance. The whole ordeal was a big pain in the ass for President Washington, though, and in the end he decided to repeal the tax. Pittsburgh- 1, Federal Government- 0.

In short, the premise of the anarchist’s argument was that Pittsburghers betrayed a 215 year-old historical legacy of resistance by hosting the G-20 conference and its accompanying security attaché. He wasn’t kidding either; I heard him utter “no principles,” or “legacy of betrayal” at least three times.

At this point, I decided I was done. I was clearly dealing with stupidest man in the world. He continued to talk, but all I heard was a series of words: prison state, war on drugs, Israel, tear-gas, revolution, Israeli-made tear gas canister, tree-sit, protesting, Noam Chomsky, Israel, fresh ideas, the media, corporations, the corporate media, Israel, the system, Noam Chomsky, capitalism, the FBI, Noam Chomskyyyyy…

I told him I had to find my friend, and wished him luck in his travels. I left him with some more advice. I told him, take three or four days out of your touristy activities. Check into a cheap hotel in an Egyptian neighborhood. Go to an ‘ahwa, go to a local bar. Find some patrons who speak English, even though it might be hard. Talk to them. Ask them how they feel about the police. The government. Ask them the last time they voted. Ask them how they feel about Mubarak. They’ll be open with you, you’re a Westerner, you’re immune. Read a wikipedia article and find out how often they have democratic elections in Egypt. Talk to your cab drivers. You’ll be shocked how many have college degrees. Visit the country, and check out all the women in ninja suit niqabs. And then get back to me about how bad it sucks to live in a police state. While you’re at it, you can also shove your masters degree up your ass and find a real job.

Okay, so I didn’t say that last part. He offered a weak protest to the effect of, well, police states come in all shapes and sizes, and America is still a police state. He told me, “you wait, the police state will fall, and we will see a revolution.” In Egypt, maybe, insha’allah. I walked away, into the chilly Cairo evening. Ben was still waiting for me, and the car hadn’t arrived.

If I had bigger balls, I probably would’ve told him to skip the Israel-Jordan-Syria leg of his trip, and head down south to Somalia to check out the anarchist paradise that has been created there. “They have pirates, bro. Pirates, how fucking sweet is that? Ya know, when you don’t have a police state infringing on your freedom all the time, you can exercise your God-given right to become a pirate!”

We perused the Sephora, we weren’t quite sure was a Sephora, one more time. I was drawn to a Spiderman cologne, which ended up smelling like lemon cleaning substance. Nadia headed to a shelf with a scent she knew. “Need a tester?” I offered. Nadia declined– “I know this one,” before liberally squirting.
She sniffed her wrist and offered it to me. Ughh…something was wrong! It doesn’t smell right, she lamented. Too late.

We headed out of the  ”Sephora” laughing.

Our suspicions seemed confirmed. We were now pretty sure the store must be hiding a disclaimer or facing a lawsuit (if anyone bothered to notice or care).

I’m non-material, don’t much like shopping and have little brand loyalty. Despite, it is always surprising when you realize the product you’re seeing only shares a similar name and packaging style.  This applies for food, clothes, makeup, jewelry, accessories etc.

Sometimes the differences are very easy to spot, as Nadia and I discovered last week. Others are are less obvious if you’re not suspecting.Plus, the practice obviously isn’t confined to expensive brands, to which the shampoo example attests.

It happened to me a couple months ago with shampoo. I bought a bottle, which I could have sworn was Herbal Essences.

The texture of it noticeably sucked and I was disappointed. About halfway through the bottle I made a not-so-startling discovery. I was using “Herbal Care” rather than Herbal Essences.

Silly me right? But hey, it even had the same picture of the fruit/flowers, green top and pink color.

The other thing I find most entertaining about the whole brand knock-off practice, is very often descriptions and product details are spelled completely incorrectly too, raising the question–is the brand misspelling always purposeful?  Very likely if these fakes were trying to be legitimate they would have typos, which would give them away despite

Back in Mohandaseen Nadia and I have moved from the “Sephora” to two amazing accessory stores which beckoned with their glitter and lights. Beside the photo-worthy brands featured here, highlights were a large selection of snake sunglasses (Nadia modeled every pair), belly-dancing beads and endlessly shiny, big and beautiful earrings.

The best part? Nadia and I failed to buy the shoes and warm clothes we set-out for. Looks like another  bedazzled-visit is in order!

-

Estacao de trem em Luxor

Loja de artesanato em Luxor

Homem que dirige a Caleche

Sai da estação ferroviária de Alexandria as 10 horas da manhã.

A viagem até Luxor era prevista para chegar as 10 da noite, mas  quando chegamos em Giza, Cairo, o trem  foi muito devagar, quase parando, o que atrasou  a nossa chegada, e ao invés de 10 da noite, chegamos a 1 da madrugada.

O atraso ocorreu devido a um acidente há um  mes atrás, mais ou menos, onde muitas pessoas  faleceram  neste  local.

Nós vimos o trem  onde  ocorreu  este  acidente, mas não pude registrar, pois ate  posicionarmos a camera, não daria mais tempo.

A viagem foi tranquila, quem quizer ir de trem ate Luxor ou Aswan, eu aconselho, pois é uma forma de se conhecer  todas as cidades, ter uma noção melhor do país.

O único  problema no trem é o banheiro.

Além de não ser muito limpo  no começo da viagem, a medida que as pessoas  vão utilizando, mais vai ficando nojento.

Mas tivemos a sorte de ter um vagão inteiro a nossa disposicão, e  com isto,  pouca gente entrando na toilete, el Hamdo lilah!!!.

Ao chegarmos em Luxor a 1 coisa que notei foi como é linda a estação de trem, com o chão todo de granito com desenhos de estrelas,  iguais aos encontrados  no teto de algumas tumbas  de faraos .

 Fomos direto para o hotel  para começarmos a passear no  dia seguinte .

A cidade de Luxor é muito bonita, limpa e organizada, ao contrario de Cairo e Alexandria.

Tem sinaleiros, muitas carruagens, que eles  chamam de Caleches, com os cavalos uzando um  protetor embaixo  do corpo, para não sujarem a cidade.

O  Templo de Luxor à noite, com  iluminacão apropriada, é de se perder o folego, algo fantástico.

Vejam as fotos e amanhã contarei o resto .

Boa semana  para voces .

Estacao de trem em Luxor a noite

CROSSING EGYPT BY TRAIN—On a rack above me in a crowded train hurtling through the night, someone has stuffed luggage – a box of carefully tied twigs holding belongings.

This is poverty, I tell myself.

Because of this poverty, there are families in Egypt who sell their young daughters to rich men.

Someone with a local community organization that knows of such things, tells me of a small village in Upper Egypt where most of the young girls have been married off to wealthy men so that their families could have money.

I hear from her, and others, about brokers who allegedly arrange these marriages, and who find ways to get around the government law that bars anyone under 18 from marrying.

These community organization workers talk also about so-called pleasure marriages arranged by brokers. It is a business deal where wealthy tourists marry village girls for the weekend or for the summer. And then the men dump the girls.

The teen brides another young woman regularly meets as part of her job a community organization in Cairo deeply upsets her.  The woman, whose name in Arabic has the same meaning as prayer, has thrown herself into the work, telling herself this is what she must do.

Young women 14- or 15-years-old are married to men 20 or 30 years older than them for money for their families, she explains with a sad shrug.

The community activist cannot think of someone being sold that way. Nor can she bear to hear another story of a young bride who went off to a world of wealth and came back months later, discarded by the husband, and dumped back into poverty.

Because of poverty there are people here who turn to selling their body parts, mostly kidneys. I can’t tell how widespread the problem is, but there is much talk of it in the newspapers and among local organizations who tell of poor people who have sold their kidneys to dealers, who scout the slums for sellers.

They say the sellers sometimes don’t even get the money they are promised and often they are left sick and damaged permanently from the surgery. They talk of gangs who operate these scams across the Middle East. There’s a story in the Cairo newspapers about arrests of one such gang that operated between Jordan and Egypt.

Because of poverty, there are street children who are victimized in countless ways. Some of them have been scooped up in the smaller towns, and shifted to the big cities where the abuse only magnifies; prostitution, drug dealing, thievery. They have to beg for themselves, for their families, or for whoever manipulates them.

Because of poverty, underage children work in factories and the fields in violation of Egyptian laws that mostly bar them from working if they are under 14 years old, journalists in the country’s smaller cities tell me.

But because the families are poor there are no complaints from them. There seem to be countless community groups struggling to deal with this problem that does not vanish.

Because of poverty, people seek out smugglers who promise to take them to jobs in Europe. But more often the voyages are fatal death trips in boats that barely get beyond the Egyptian coast.

I talk with the head of a community organization in a mid-sized Egyptian city who boils all of these problems down to poverty, and that helps me understand the child brides and the trafficking and child labor and the people who say it isn’t an issue because there is nothing to be done about it and it is a custom, not a social plight.

He doesn’t think you can do much unless you understand the root causes.

So, I understand why on the train that pulled out just before mine from a town in central Egypt there was a group of young men clinging for their lives to a door on the outside of the last car. They couldn’t afford a ticket so they were willing to risk their lives on the railroad on this dark night.

And I understand why some of people mulling around in the dirty, decades-old train have a look of unease. It is because they are headed for Cairo, looking for a job and better life. But decent-paying jobs are rare in a country where many earn no more than $2 per day and in a city where swelling crowds are doing the same as them.

And so I understood too the luggage of twigs.

Through films little seen, and a genre little known, the Margaret Mead Film Festival brings ethnography the world over to the screens of AUC.

CAIRO – Ever seen a game of Cricket played Trobriand style? The trials nomadic Tibetan Pashmina herders face sending their kids to school? The life of umbrella-makers, job-hunters, soliders and farmers in China?

From Oct. 12 until Thursday Nov. 5, The Margaret Mead Film Festival, brought to the American University in Cairo for the second time by the department of Sociology, Anthropology, Psychology and Egyptology, filled the screens of the new campus and Tahrir Sq. campus with images from afar.

The annual festival in New York, founded by the American Museum of Natural History, selected six programs for the MMFF’s traveling edition – including films from Australia, The Himalayas, Swaziland, China, Italy, Abkhazia, Laos, and Papua New Guinea – which AUC was granted permission to screen. The films were introduced by AUC professors and often concluded in discussions.

“The festival gives students and the community a chance to screen rare films with images they may not have the chance to see elsewhere,” grad student and festival aide Sarah Leonard said.

“I love documentaries, but I don’t get to see them often enough,” visiting student Raina Zantout, 22, said after a screening of Donagh Coleman’s Stone Pastures (2008).

Among the films screened was AUC professor Jerry Leach’s 1976 film Trobriand Cricket: An Ingenious Response to Colonialism, “one of the most bizarre anthropological films ever made,” according to the MMFF. Leach shot the film while working on a PhD at the then-developing University of Papua New Guinea.

Skeptical as to whether or not the general AUC audience would be receptive to the title – cricket being little known in Egypt or the United States, Leach said that in viewing the film, audiences would recognize that the game “just cried out as something that had to be filmed.” The solid group who turned out the to screening didn’t go away disappointed, staying around to chat with Leach about his experience of the Trobriand Islanders and the process of making the film.

“It’s a great event and I’m very happy to [have shown] my film at AUC,” he said.

However, ethnographic film remains a fairly unknown medium with students, that many would be surprised to discover.

“Documentary is a strange beast in the region,” associate professor of anthropology Mark Westmoreland, who took over organizing the event this year, said. “Here people are much more accustomed to fiction film than documentary. Part of bringing people in is an educational process, teaching people how to view and gain from these films.”

AUC grad student Yasmine Khalifa, 24, is currently taking Professor Westmoreland’s visual anthropology class to “figure out the techniques” of ethnographic film.

“[The class] is my first experience with film,” she said. “so it’s great to have the Margaret Mead Festival here. The films I saw were very interesting.”

Festival volunteer and anthropology major Sam Walton, 22, isn’t considering a career in film, but enjoyed the opportunity to screen the films and help the festival.

“It is hard to choose a favorite film from the program,” he said, “but Stone Pastures really made me think. Seeing how difficult that life was made me reconsider my own.”

For Leonard, the film festival is a way to “engage students with the medium.”

“Ethnographic films are refreshing because they aren’t typical commercial documentaries,” she said. “Documentary doesn’t have to be boring or safe. These ethnographies are experimental, on the forefront of film. Come check them out.”

Though some of the fifteen screenings drew crowds of up to sixty viewers, others remained fairly intimate. One screening of Stone Pastures drew a small but dedicated crowd of 21 viewers, like visiting student Sarah Shipley, 20, who braved the Cairo traffic from new campus to make the screening.

“I really enjoyed the film’s large panoramic shots and work with available light,” she said.

Festival organizers attributed some of the low-turnouts to the changed schedule and the distance between the new campus and the Tahrir Sq. campus. According to Leonard, attendance was generally higher on the new campus with twenty to sixty viewers to the Tahrir campus’s ten or twenty.

“Considering the swine-flu break and condensed schedule, the turnout was good,” she said. “With Tuesday classes it was hard for some students to come, even for extra credit.”

However, this is being taken into account for the festival’s future with the idea of combining screenings in a day or weekend event. According to Westmoreland, the goal of this is to include the public and engage the city with the films and dialogue offered by the MMFF.

“I feel like showing the films downtown is a great way to bring people in,” he said. “I think next year we need to think about how to do that, [whether] we should be collaborating with cultural centers or embassies. I feel like if more people knew about it, more would come.”

With the curtain dropped on this years festival, students and Cairenes will have to wait for next years line up to feast their senses on a new buffet of global images and stories told by world renowned filmmakers. For more information on how to become involved with next year’s festival, contact Professor Westmoreland in the department of Sociology, Anthropology, Psychology and Egyptology.

Football matches can be a tribal affair and in several parts of the world the ‘beautiful game’ can turn into a battlefield. In Lebanon, so I am told, many games are played without crowds of supporters in case they break out into sectarian fighting and restart the civil war. In case you think that sounds far-fetched, remember that the Central American states of Honduras and El Salvador did indeed go to war in 1969 in a conflict triggered by their qualifying match for the 1970 FIFA World Cup (though of course there were political issues at stake as well). In an alarming development over the past few days a similar stand-off has been brewing between Algeria and Egypt following their recent 2010 World Cup qualifier replay in Khartoum, Sudan. The Algerians say some Egyptians threw stones at them, while the Egyptians claim Algerian fans set on them. Whatever the truth of the matter, there have been angry demonstrations in both Cairo and Algiers and many injuries. Ambassadors from the two countries have been called in by their respective host governments for a dressing down and the Egyptian President, Hosni Mubarak, has waded into the affair, basically saying that it is normal for people to hit someone who insults their country. All this is a useful distraction for him, of course, to turn people’s minds away from Egypt’s own internal problems and the big question about what will happen when he dies or retires. Meanwhile, the new ’football war is a depressing reminder not only of how tribal soccer can become, but more seriously of how disunited the Arab world is, even within North Africa.

After spending 10 awesome days in Beirut, getting off the plane on November 14 was a pretty depressing moment. I’d forgot how much I missed the smell of Egypt; dry air, pollution, rotting trash, and in this case, jet fuel. I texted Ian, and told him to get excited for all the goodies that we were bringing home. Because nothing screams “I just spent 2 weeks in Beirut” quite like some bottles of wine, a ridiculous array of Hezbollah merch, and an imported, $8 copy of The New Yorker.

Customs and passport control went easily enough. Carrying a hundred or so dollars worth of gifts and other stuff I bought in Lebanon, I walked straight for the “nothing to declare” gate and walked right through without question. At passport control, the woman actually just glanced at my residency permit and stamped me. This was mildly disappointing, considering the reactions that various other kids in my program have faced when they show their residency permits upon re-entering the country. Wait, you live here? I don’t understand. Are you sure you have residency, this looks like the stamp but that just doesn’t make any sense? Hold on, you actually chose to reside here? Did America kick you out or something? I’m sorry, go buy another tourist visa and then let’s try this process over again.

Ben and I grabbed our checked bag and headed for the airport exit. I turned to Ben: “get ready to get harassed.” My fourth favorite thing in Egypt, after the trash, food (can I group trash and food together, as they are basically indistinguishable here?), and stray cats is definitely being harassed. The first time I came though the Cairo airport, I got rushed by a few dozen cab drivers within seconds of exiting. They all promised me the same “Egyptian price” since I spoke some Arabic with them, but the price was only Egyptian in the sense that it would’ve fed an Egyptian family for a few years.

And then something very strange happened; I walked into the airport arrival hall to find it nearly empty. No screaming cabbies. No screaming children. No cats. No ninjas. Actually, there were no cabbies at all. What the fuck, I thought? This isn’t Cairo. And then I remembered:

Before leaving Lebanon, we had received an email from the U.S. State Department warning Americans in Egypt of an upcoming soccer match between the Egyptian and Algerian national teams in Cairo on November 14. Not just any match, but the last World Cup qualifying match. Egypt generally has decent soccer teams (they won the last African Cup of Nations), but this year they’ve managed to shit the bed in World Cup qualifying. Coming into this game, Egypt found itself one spot removed from the last African seed that makes the cup. They had to beat Algeria by 3 to secure the spot. If they won by 2, they’d force a playoff next week; a one-point win or a loss would send them home.

The State Department warned us that if Egypt wins, expect crazy traffic and joyous rioting. If Egypt loses, expect crazy traffic and destructive rioting. In a few paragraphs, they basically advised any Americans in Cairo to grab a few Stellas from Drinkies and download a decent movie, because they ain’t gonna be doing anything or going anywhere the night of the 14th.
As far as the Egyptians were concerned though, this game might as well be the Super Bowl. In reality, it was more like a must-win game in Week 16 that ensures that the team can go on to play for a playoff spot in Week 17. Hardly worth rioting over, win or lose, unless of course you’re from Cleveland and remaining competitive in Week 16 is rarer than a democratic election in the Middle East. And since Egypt is basically the Cleveland of the international community, I guess they can justify rioting over this game.

Well shit, I thought, that’s a win-lose situation for Egypt, but a lose-lose situation for me. On any other night of the year, I’d gladly join my Egyptian brethren in lighting some couches and stray cats on fire after a big soccer victory, but tonight, I was already facing a 3-hour trip back to Alexandria in the middle of the night and riots and traffic weren’t going to make that journey and more fun. My plane was set to touch down around 9:30, about half an hour after the end of the soccer match. In the terminal of the Beirut airport, we caught the first half hour of the game. Egypt scores, 1-0; shit.

We board the plane for a quick, easy, and for the following reason, rather enjoyable flight. In a moment of identity crisis, caught between its desire to be a functioning, western company and its obligations as primary air carrier for most of the Muslim world, EgyptAir accidentally served ham on this flight. HAM. And not just one type of ham either; it was a delicious ham medley consisting of both chunks and slices, topped off with a moist and chewy brownie. It was as if EgyptAir knew that Ben and I would be flying that day and decided to ceremoniously sacrifice the last pig in Egypt on our behalf. I could tell from the terse, whispered conversations taking place in the adjacent rows after the food was served that Ben and I were probably going to be the only passengers that ate the ham. I guess you know the food in a given country sucks when the best meal that you eat there is airplane food.

The plane touches down and it’s our captain speaking: Egypt wins, 2-0. The plane erupts with cheers and high-fives. I talk to the friendly Egyptian sitting next to me, and learn that the tiebreaker will be later in the week, but for now, only celebrations. I think, well, at least now I’ll get to read some entertaining half-English, half what-the-fuck-Egyptian-colloquial-is-not-even-a-language facebook status updates from my Egyptian friends in the dorm.

So back to the arrival hall of the Cairo airport. Puzzled by the lack of screaming cabbies near the exit, Ben and I head outside. It’s a pleasant evening; I thought maybe the clamoring hordes decided to hang out on the sidewalk instead. Nothing. Some men in gallabiyyas taking part in Egypt’s national pastime- wandering around aimlessly. Ben and I find a uniformed airport employee and ask him where we might find a cab; “in the parking lot,” he answers. We cross the street and walk to the parking lot. Nothing. Well, this blows.

Ben and I had planned on leaving Cairo at 10 PM in a taxi and arriving smoothly back to Alexandria 3 hours later. Sure a car would be a bit expensive, but it was a small price to pay to avoid the expensive airport taxi to train station to other train station to cheap taxi to bait al-tulaab shitshow with all of our bags that would have ensued otherwise. The only problem was, there wasn’t a single car for hire in the entire Cairo airport because of the soccer match. At 10:30, I decide to go talk to an airport employee. He directs me to the limousine/bus service office, which is also closed because of the soccer match. Lacking anything better to do, I go to the bank to exchange my last Lebanese Lira (tear) for some Egyptian guinea. Big surprise, there is no employee at the bank. (As I waited, however, I did meet another American traveler who I have now confirmed to be the dumbest man alive. Like Ayn Rand st00pid. I had a long conversation with him that was so inane it merits an entire future blog post to itself.) Then I peed; apparently the bathrooms in Egypt don’t close for soccer.

Back on the sidewalk, its nearly 11:30 and still no taxis. A Mongol horde of Asian tourists donning flu-masks and taking peace-sign pictures outside the airport walks by and leaves in huge tour buses. I hate to reinforce stereotypes, but Jesus, sometimes its just too easy. We call Ian again and get the number of a guy that drove him from Cairo to Alexandria one time a few months ago. Sensing that this may be our last chance to avoid sleeping on the pavement, we dial him, and wa’allahi begat, he answers: “wait twenty minutes, and I’ll pick you up. I know a guy who you can ride on him to Alexandria.” (Mastering prepositions is the hardest part of learning a language; this goes for Arabic and English).

So we wait, and exactly 20 minutes later he calls us back: “lots of traffic, wait 15 more minutes.” Exactly 15 minutes later, he calls again: “more traffic, wait another 6 minutes.” Exactly 45 minutes later, he calls again and asks where we’re waiting in the airport. Terminal 3. So at exactly 1:00 AM, over three hours after our flight landed, we get into what literally might be first cab to have passed through Cairo airport that evening.

Our luck was such that the soccer stadium just happened to be on the same road that led from the airport to the Cairo-Alex highway. A few miles in, traffic just stopped. Egyptians were running through the streets screaming, waving flags, standing on cars, and banging drums. It was actually pretty awesome. Shockingly enough, the riot was made up of both girls and boys; apparently we were in a more liberal, upper-middle class suburb of Cairo. We stopped to get gas at a convenience store and I walked in to buy water. The place was full of Egyptians around my age, smoking cigarettes, crushing bottles of Amstel Zero, and shouting obscenities. Prominently situated next to the cash register was a Trojan display with both condoms and a veritable buffet of lubes. Haraam 3layk, a liberal suburb indeed!

The traffic cleared in about an hour, and we quickly made our way to the Cairo-Alex desert highway. By 4:30 AM, nearly four hours later than expected, I was home. Facing a test in my 9 AM class I thought, well, Egypt wins, I lose, welcome back. And then I promptly decided to skip class and sleep til 2 the next day; I guess Egypt and I both won.

Egypt, A Must-See for Travlers