The Scotland Chronicles: Conclusion

Wednesday, 14 September 2011 @ 11am - This is going to be my last post of the trip, for I will not have time to update my blog before I leave for the airport tomorrow morning.

Yesterday was mostly an uneventful day because the ocean was COVERED with white caps (an indicator of bad seas), so we spent the day updating the dolphin databases. But last night we had a Spanish dinner, and that's when things got a little too silly. Because our personalities were being eaten up by spreadsheets and fin photos, we made a game out of everything, including our food.

For example, we had a Spanish potato omelete for dinner (Apparently that's dinner in Spain.), and I guess it's a British custom to leave the last piece for whoever might want it. No one wanted it, so the director came up with an idea to pass the last piece around, with each person cutting it in half until the whole thing disappears. We were eventually cutting invisible crumbs.

After dinner, one of the other volunteers had a couple containers of brown and white face masks. So we decided to do some "face painting" (The director thought I should do some "foot painting" on my 'hobbit feet' because I have the smallest feet in the group. He was highly amused by them during the trip.) and took a group photo.

Today we're going over whale rescue techniques--we will use a fake blow-up Pilot Whale for practice--and the rest of the day is dependent on how we feel since the sea isn't looking good again.

Tomorrow at 11:30am (eight hours ahead of LA) I fly out of Aberdeen to London Heathrow (I will never forgive my mother for booking this flight because I can't STAND that airport.), and then I have a three-hour wait till I take off on my 11-hour flight to LAX. I look forward to seeing friends, family, and my favorite couch.

The Scotland Chronicles: Part V

Monday, 12 September 2011 @ 7pm - Yesterday was a day of rest, so "The Guy with the Indian Name from Denmark" (TGWTINFD) and I embarked on a combination rocky/seaweedy/sandy/grassy/muddy trail to a thousand-year-old church/cemetery atop a hill overlooking the village. I had been itching to go up there ever since I arrived in Gardenstown. I remember the moment when I first saw it:

Me: What's that up there?
Staff member: It's a church. About a thousand years old.
Me: Ah...
(Pause)
Me: Is it possible to walk up there?
Staff member: Yes, there's a path you can take up there.
Me: Ah...
(Pause)
Me: Well THAT was a stupid question.
*group laughs*

Anyway, we made it up the steep trail without cardiac arrest, explored the place and took some photos. On the way back I stepped onto what looked like a sturdy pile of seaweed and ended up ankle down in ocean water. TGWTINFD stepped in dog shit.


Not too long ago we returned from a VERY cold and VERY rainy day at sea. It was so cold and rainy that when we stopped for lunch, we were tempted to eat in the old bathrooms/outhouses at one bay area. But we managed to huddle/cuddle under this small, oddly placed tunnel. Upon returning to sea we discovered a mother dolphin and calf hunting down a very large fish...it was SO large for a dolphin diet, that when we returned to the base we noticed in the photograph we took that the mother practically dislocated her jaw like a snake to swallow it.

So we were entertained by that for a while, and then it got so foggy that it looked as though we reached the edge of the earth. Before starting back, we sat and snacked for a bit to generate body heat.

"Let's have something to eat first. And if you're not hungry then feel free to fart inside your dry suit," said the director.

And so we made our way back through what looked like an icy wonderland...fart-free.

The Scotland Chronicles: Part IV

Saturday, 10 September 2011 @ 7:20pm - This morning, we gathered in the main office to listen to a lecture on cetacean identification. We learned the difference between toothed and baleen cetaceans, and then reviewed individual genus and species categories.

"And right here is a photo of a Northern Bottlenose Whale...which basically looks like a penis," said the Australian staff member.

*giggle*

"And they can get to be pretty big," she continued.

Of course, I had to ask, "The penis or the whale?"

I'm going to Hell. But at least the group laughed.

"This time it's the whale. Now, moving on to the Sperm Whale..."


Not too long ago we returned from another day out at sea, and I'm very pleased to inform you that we had calm waters, on-and-off clear skies, and FINALLY had a glorious dolphin encounter. Those suckers played mind tricks on us so we couldn't keep count of how many were surrounding the boat. But regardless, we got quite a show and I was fortunate enough to catch most of it on film without allowing the water to destroy my camera. They were playing, fighting, performing water acrobatics and synchronized swimming, swimming alongside the boat as close as 10-15 feet, etc. I'm not even kidding. I even had a chance to film them up on the front deck.

This whole experience begs the following question: Who needs a day at Seaworld when Mother Nature can provide you a free show, especially without animal abuse?

Anyway, you might be wondering, "At what point does the 'research' part come into play?" Well, the procedure begins when each of us looks in a separate direction to locate a splash or "blow" out of a blowhole. When someone sees either of these, he/she shouts the direction (e.g. "One-o'-clock!") and extends an arm out in that direction without looking anywhere else. Then whoever has a camera needs to wait till the cetacean comes to the surface so he/she can photograph the dorsal fin. This is for identification purposes.

This process is repeated while counting how many cetaceans are found in a group, or "pod." This is for population tracking, and as mentioned before, this part was difficult for us because the dolphins were incredibly energized. But in the end, we discovered a new calf and possibly a pregnant female, which is very good news*, especially because the Moray Firth (the portion of the North Sea where these creatures are being studied) is only one of two conservations in the UK for cetaceans.

When enough data has been collected, the team returns to the base/office, uploads the photos, and compares them to previous photos to see if there have been any population changes, differences in dorsal fin scars (the males especially have these from fighting), etc. The team also looks over the route taken to find these pods, which I'm guessing is for migration purposes.

There's a lot more to it, but the purpose of this blog is to be entertaining. So I will leave you with this information for now.

*Dolphin Threats

The Scotland Chronicles: Part III

Friday, 9 September 2011 @ about 1pm - I published Part III a couple days ago, but it looks like Blogger didn’t follow through with its job. In that post I had mentioned that we had a fun-filled day on a “mystery tour” instead of a day out at sea (What better place to go on an adventure named after a Beatles song than in the UK?). On that tour, transported by the organization’s Land Rover and led by the director, we stopped at a cemetery that contained various symbols all over its walls and tombs, such as the skull and cross bones. I wish I could tell you the age of the place; however, I did see a tombstone with a year from the late-nineteenth century inscribed on it.

We then visited a “rich people” harbor with a closed-up lighthouse, a cave connecting two bays, a grocery store called “Tesco’s,” and then on the way back saw a sheep that somehow figured out how to jump an (electric?) fence but couldn’t figure out how to get back in. We heard, “Baa-a-a-aahh,” but what I think it was really trying to say was, “Shii-i-i-iit, how did I do that agaa-a-a-aain?”

Yesterday we went out to sea and were cursed with another dolphin-less day. We stopped at a random bay to have lunch and then started back. Both ways had rough seas, minus rain, and the director came up with this “brilliant” idea of stopping in the middle of the return route to fish for mackerel.

This is when I learned again that seasickness doesn’t come from sitting on a boat moving at 15 mph; it comes from sitting idle with three- to four-foot waves rocking the boat towards shore.

I thought I was over seasickness, but perhaps my body wanted revenge for not getting the job done on the bus to Banff. Here we were, in a rocking boat with two people standing up fishing and the rest of us sitting. Three fish were caught and then one of the rods was offered to me. I was excited by this opportunity, having gone fishing only once in my life (When I was like, I dunno, six?) and never caught anything. But every time I tried grabbing the rod, a wave rocked the boat and my stomach felt more and more like an active volcano.

“Um, that’s alright. You can keep fishing.”

I turned and stared out at the horizon for a while, and one of the staff members asked me, “Holly, are you okay?”

I shook my head. “No.”

So, the next thing I knew I was driving the boat home again. This was to help me concentrate elsewhere other than on the Mount St. Helens growing in mi estomago. I was so tired and bleh when we returned, that I slept in this morning and asked one of the other volunteers to tell the director that I was going to take a “personal day off to sleep” while everyone else went out to sea again. I needed it to get used to the time difference.

The Scotland Chronicles: Part II

Wednesday, 7 September 2011 @ 11:50am - So yesterday was an event-filled day. The day began with beautiful weather, but the director of the program later read the waves and predicted the weather would worsen.  Also, the boat battery decided to stop working and refused to revive. It said in a Scottish accent, "No, I don't feel like it, and nothing can change my mind." Stupid boat.

But we didn't give up and the guys went out to get a spare boat. Even with disgusting weather we decided to get fitted into our dry suits (Mine makes me look like a red and navy Michelin Man since these suits were made for people as short as 5'4''. I'm 5'2''.). We went out to sea as the swells (wave height) increased to level 4 (on a spectrum of 0-5, 0 being calm) and the current up to 3 (on a scale of 0-7, 0 being calm). We didn't find any cetaceans, but on the way back the director said, "Okay, I'm going to let the girl from California, Los Angeles drive the boat." (I think here they say the city name second to the state/country.) Um, what? I'm barely capable of operating a car back home!

So I nervously took over the wheel and got a quick lesson on how everything works. I operated the boat like I would a stick shift car (horribly). I'm surprised the girl who took seasickness pills didn't regurgitate those along with her sandwich lunch. We were a quarter of the way back when it started pouring rain.

**So, I can safely say that I've been in the Middle East during a sandstorm and in the UK at sea during a rainstorm...while operating a boat. I have more points for bragging rights.

Anyway, I couldn't see while "driving," so someone behind me grabbed a pair of goggles and stuck them over my face. I held onto the goggles with my right hand, had my left hand on the power lever thingy (the "gas"), and then said, "Well, I was born with only two arms so someone needs to steer." The director took over the wheel. It would have been an interesting photo to take.

There's plenty more to talk about, but I'll end here with a new UK term that I learned yesterday: "Trackybums." We call them sweats or running pants.

The Scotland Chronicles: Part I

Monday, 5 September 2011 @ 9:20am (eight hours ahead of Los Angeles) – I’m at the Dublin International Airport awaiting possibly the smallest plane I’ll have ever been aboard (I’m counting the number of seats here per gate, and it looks like 15-18). I’m surprisingly more awake than I thought, and I’m guessing this is because 1. I’ve gotten enough practice sleeping on planes, and 2. My body is probably very used to jet lag now.

However, I was very close to snapping earlier. While at LAX, I was lying on the floor by the gate under a sign saying “Do Not Sit Here,” (that I didn’t discover until I got up to board the plane). A kid, maybe two or three years old, came up to me and started telling me a bunch of nonsense. All I could make out was something about killing a tiger in the jungle, and then he threw his stuffed dog (the tiger?) on top of my stuff next to me. I wasn’t sure how to respond to this (I’m not good with kids), but for Holly, animals > children. All I could think about was, “God, I wish I had a pit bull to scare off this kid so I don’t end up in a mental institution doing it myself.”

The first flight to Chicago wasn’t too amazing: at one point the plane fell many feet, a man cackled like a sick witch during the movie Something Borrowed (a box office failure?), and when we land--I liken it to dropping a brick on concrete--it hurt. One man commented after he got off the plane, “Worst. Flight. Ever.” Couldn’t have said it better.

The second flight to Dublin was better, but I sat next to an Irish man who kept making small talk (I’m loathe to having plane conversations with strangers unless you ask me, “What would you like to eat or drink?”), and founded the “Feed the Holly” cause because he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that I don’t eat normal human/American proportions. He kept giving up parts of his meals saying, “You’re not eating very much; are you on a diet?” I politely accepted his charitable gifts and didn’t eat them because, well, I couldn’t. Duh.

I will be boarding my final flight to Aberdeen, Scotland in about 25 minutes; after I land I will need to take a cab to a bus/train station and then a bus to Banff. From there, I will be picked up by a team from the Cetacean Research and Rescue Unit and taken to my FINAL final destination…which is somewhere in Gardenstown (near Banff).

Gardenstown, Scotland @ 9:30pm

Aberdeen

So, I’ve been awake for two days. Somehow I was able to stand a sickening, two-hour bus ride from Aberdeen to Banff. I was so close to yaking up my gut that I found a newspaper in the empty seat next to me and decided to use it in case of an emergency. But luckily I made it.

Four volunteers and I are staying in a little cottage town with a beautiful view of the North Sea. We got a tour of the house (I share a room with a chick from England and a guy with an Indian name from Denmark) and the surrounding neighborhood, which is quite tiny.  It’s a very relaxed atmosphere with well-educated people who have a passion for the well-being of the ocean.

Banff

There’s plenty more to talk about, but I’m super tired and just wanted to conclude that 1. it’s very green here, 2. the architecture is very gray (brick/stone), 3. the area is BEAUTIFUL, and 4. I think it’s safe to say that the people here really have your best interests at heart. A bunch of people, young and old, really went out of their way to make sure I made it safely to my destination in the cheapest way possible.

Tuesday, 6 September 2011 @ 9:52am - I slept 11 hours and couldn't figure out the shower this morning. I was told this is because of my jet lag (that I thought I was used to by now), because all I had to do was flip a switch to turn it on (it's an electric shower).

It's a beautiful morning, so we'll probably learn basic safety and recording (whale observation) procedures and be fitted into our dry suits. We have something going on in town on Friday and/or Saturday (some kind of exhibition?).

More to come later if I have time within the next couple of days. (This is after I figure out the shower.)

North Sea

Can you say "lucky"?

"Wow, turn on CNN today when you have time.  There is a revolution in Egypt.  Boy we sure timed our trip right:  we flew between the snowstorms, riots in Athens over austerity measures, riots in London over university tuition increases, bombings in Greece and Alexandria, and now a revolution!  You should buy a lottery ticket (laugh)!"

--My Auntie Eve (my traveling companion from my "Excellent Adventure" chapters)

(Photo from http://arabnews.com/middleeast/article73326.ece/REPRESENTATIONS/large_620x350/mid_egypt.jpg)

The Egypt and Greece Chronicles - Conclusion

Morning of 22 December, the Greek island, Poros: This is going to be my last entry for this trip.

Yesterday morning, we had 45 minutes to leave our hotel in Athens toward Piraeus to avoid the Metro strikes. Luckily, with three minutes remaining we were able to make it to the port of Piraeus to find a ferry to Poros. The first ferry got delayed due to weather issues at sea, so we weren’t able to board until 6:00 PM. In the meantime, we dragged our luggage around town to look for a hotel. While on this search, I noticed many uncensored billboards and news stands—countless images of topless women in g-strings were stroking each other. It didn't bother me, though I was still amazed after spending a week in a country where women tend to be more-or-less black silhouettes.

After we left the Piraeus hotel, my aunt and I found seats at the port. Then she went searching for a news stand with her favorite newspaper, The International Herald Tribune. Immediately, this dark-skinned man (Another Egyptian?) approached me with a box of (Pardon my Russian.) "cheap shit" to sell. I told him "No, thank you," but he persistently tried negotiating a price for this vibrating massager, which he removed from the box, turned on, and began using against my upper back…then my lower back…then my right calf… I kept telling him, "NO, thank you!" But I couldn’t help (Again, pardon my Russian.) laughing my ass off, which he mistook for my wanting more. He kept at it while trying to negotiate a price. Finally, a Greek woman working one of the nearby stands yelled at and shooed him like he were a swarm of flies.

Almost three hours and three stops later, we made it to the island of Poros. Tired and with no hotel reservation, we set out to locate another hotel and got picked up by this ugly woman working on commission. Astonishingly, the rooms’ TVs have every foreign channel but CNN, and guests are forced to bathe in old school tubs, not showers. While the Holly at the beginning of this trip would have been more open-minded to a tubbing session, the Holly this morning, upon discovering this, was craving the spoiled American life again.

But now I’m content and fed, and enjoying a beautiful view of the Mediterranean Sea from a modest Greek café. The buildings on one side of the port are either white, light yellow, or peach on the lower hills and bare on the upper hills.

Not too long ago, an old religious-looking man came up to me, and when I looked at him he just stared. I said, “Yes?” He replied, “Yes.” Then left. Odd.

At the crack of dawn tomorrow, we leave for the hotel in Athens to pick up the rest of our luggage in storage. Then my aunt will take me to the airport where we will say our good byes. I’ll fly into London Heathrow, where the runways should be clear (Boy, am I lucky!). I’ll stay at the Holiday Inn in London for one night, fly into JFK, and then fly into LAX to conclude this marvelous trip. 

The Egypt and Greece Chronicles: Part VII

Morning of Sunday, 19 December, Athens: Yesterday morning, I checked my bags to make sure all my family's Christmas gifts were still existing and intact. After a thorough search, it looked like some bastard in Egypt was now enjoying the Egyptian Pounds coming off the silver bracelet I bought for my mom.

Auntie and I slept in after the late flight, enjoyed the best meal we’ve had in a week (three weeks for her)--consisting of turkey sandwiches for me and a latte for her--and then found the nearest Metro to take to the Acropolis.

After getting off the Metro, there was a nice cobblestone walkway winding around the base of the Acropolis. Along the walkway on one side were middle-class-looking buildings, each with a Greek flag stemming off, and street musicians with their healthy German shepherds (unlike the ones in Egypt) sitting on the Acropolis side. Perpendicular to the walkway (building side) were narrow streets with little European cars. The air was cold, crisp, and clean.

A tall Asian guy with an SLR camera took the same path as us to the top, though I wondered if we were actually being followed. He was very friendly--a little too friendly--and helped us locate the entrance. Then after Auntie went her own way he decided to latch on to me. (I guess that’s what some do when they’re alone in a foreign country and meet someone who speaks their language.) He went by “Howie” and came from San Francisco. Then after the Parthenon, we went to the nearby shops and saw him there, too. At that point he asked for my contact information. I gave him my email address.

Anyway, the good parts: the Acropolis and Parthenon. Just as magnificent as the photos, with a view of the city that’ll knock your socks off. From the top one can see another temple at ground level called the Temple of Olympian Zeus, and another hill across from the Acropolis called the Hill of the Muses. (“Gaius Julius Antiochus Philopappos was a prince of Commagene, a kingdom in Upper Syria, who was overthrown by the Romans in 72 [B.C.E.]. Exiled from his native country, he settled in Athens and became a benefactor of the city. Between A.D.114-116 he built his own funeral monument, in a very privileged position facing the Akropolis, which dominated the area and gave his name to the hill.” --http://www.akropol.net/philopappos_hill/philopappos_hill_page1.htm.)

The fascinating new Acropolis Museum was built over "excavations," which can be seen through the glass floor. (I put the word in quotes, because I wasn't sure if the "excavation" was real or if the museum was purposely built over where many of the reliefs and sculptures were discovered.) The museum itself was rather tiny, but had amazing pieces that I’m sure make the Greeks very, very proud.

Evening of 19 December: I’ve never known anything more hair-pulling than the elevators at this hotel. Before switching my room due to the smell of burnt hair, we were both on the seventh level. We pressed the "down" button, then the elevator started at level three, headed down to one, then up to eight, then down to five, then down to three again…

After waiting a good six minutes (We still haven’t located stairs exceeding level two in this place.), the elevator finally hit level seven. We entered, and from seven it went down to six, and then the lift would open, revealing a large group of people with whom we couldn’t fit because the elevator had already reached full capacity. Close. Level five, open—no one there, probably because they had given up. Level four, open—no one. Level three, open—a group of teens playing cards on the floor (I said to my aunt, “They might as well pitch a tent.”). Level two, open—too many people. Level one was the same, and five minutes later we reached the lobby. It must have been a mass check-in time because that was unbelievable.

We decided to visit the Archaeological Museum (self-explanatory, with more reliefs and sculptures) briefly because, my god, a combination of jet lag from flying and stomach pains from eating Burger King in Egypt is a fat SOB. On the way, we asked a woman working in a café for directions. She had no idea how to answer the question, even with decent English. Another woman interrupted her, brought us outside to point us in the right direction, and whispered with a thick Greek accent, “Don’t worry, she’s the stupid one.” Love it.

The Egypt and Greece Chronicles: Part VI

Morning of 18 December, Classic Athens Imperial Hotel, Athens: I’m finally in Athens after a long week in Egypt. From Alexandria we were able to train it back to Cairo (and it actually took 2.5 hours!), where we hopped on a plane to Greece. Much to our relief, the train was sanitary and its passengers more civilized. I spent much of the time reading while hearing the buzz of a man’s voice muttering prayers to himself (Fridays are the Muslim day of Sabbath), and at one point our car played Show Me the Meaning of Being Lonely by the Backstreet Boys. How random is that?

But let me tell you: when arriving in Athens (a Christian country) at around midnight it was like someone set loose a flock of doves; it was beautiful. The Greek female flight attendants had the physique of classical Greek statues and spoke with fabulous accents. This was my first time hearing both the accent and the language, and I must say I've never heard anything like it. To me, it sounded like a mix of Mexican Spanish, Jamaican, and British--pretty far off from Arabic.

Getting off the plane was a "trip" because my aunt was still drunk off sleeping pills she took to help pass the time. (I didn’t see what was wrong with being awake for two hours, but I guess she did.) Coming out of the plane, I had to slow my walking speed to look after her as she used the wall to avoid veering in any direction other than “straight.”

The city at night from cab view wasn't too magnificent. This was probably because I'm used to seeing the same architecture in the US, who bit off the Greeks (Who hasn't?); in fact, it reminded me of Old Town Pasadena. It was comforting to feel like home, yet disappointing because it felt like I was back home. I suppose I have to visit one of the Islands to get a good feel for the Greek life--that’s if the strikes don’t impact our ride out.

Today I’m ready for savory Mediterranean food, free WiFi (didn’t get that in Egypt), people who offer a service (e.g., giving directions) without having their hand out *ahem*Egypt*ahem*, and an eye-opening visit to…well, you’ll find out in my next entry J.

P.S. Not that it adds value to your life, I really butchered Giacomo’s name when I spelled it “Jacomo.” *slaps wrist* I have both the Italians’ email addresses so we can keep in touch.

The Egypt and Greece Chronicles: Part V

Morning of Friday, 17 December, Sheraton Hotel, Alexandria: That last couple of days weren’t very eventful, so I'm informing everyone that I’m okay and haven’t been raped and/or kidnapped.

To begin, I’m sad to say I didn't dine with the Italians, because even a forty-five minute flight from Luxor to Cairo can induce vast amounts of slumbery (And jet lag adds up after traveling by plane thrice times within the same week!). I ended up knocking out at 7 PM and returning to consciousness exactly twelve hours later. On the way out of Cairo I was told that Jacomo nicknamed me “Sid” from Ice Age.

Anyway, we took a cab to a bus station so we could take the “Super Jet” to Alexandria. Of course the bus wasn’t the most impressive thing on four wheels, the seats showing some age and a small pile of rubbish collecting in a corner. The guidebooks say that such a trip takes 2.5 hours, but we quickly learned that 2.5 hours is actually how long it takes to get out of Cairo (due to traffic), which makes that total to five hours in “Egyptian time” AKA "no concern for time." We nicknamed the bus “Super Snail.”

Our entertainment was a few Egyptian films, which were all in Arabic and excruciating to watch, because gollygeewillickers, that acting was so exaggerated and the filmmaking so amateur that the "filmmakers" might get some decent taste and skill from Leave it to Beaver. And looking around, I noticed that the passengers were highly amused by a “dying” man motioning to to his comrades in the woods to leave him to die, and then ten seconds later remembering he had to actually look the part of “dead” (Thunk!). They were also entertained by a rebellious teenager’s victorious display that almost injures her boyfriend’s ribs and nearly knocks off her own boob.  I wanted to saw off my leg.

The bus concluded its route five hours later. By cab it took us another hour to get to the hotel because there was just no escaping traffic, whether we were on the main road or on a detour. But fortunately, when the traffic dispersed we got a gander at cosmopolitan life in Alexandria (old, tall, off-white buildings and many, many jewelry and antique stores), and a beautiful view of the Mediterranean Sea at 5 PM along the corniche. It’s too bad that ferries for crossing the Mediterranean no longer exist and our day was wasted, so today we head back to Cairo (hopefully by train this time) to catch a flight to Athens.

Hopefully the airport in Athens hasn’t shut down due to the riots…

The Egypt and Greece Chronicles: Part IV

(Yesterday) Tuesday, 14 December, Pyramisa Hotel in Luxor, Egypt, right on the Nile River.

After I had breakfast, I decided to check the gift shop for a decent Christmas gift for my sister. I walked in and the young salesman greeted me.  Forgetting that Egypt doesn’t work on fixed prices, I found myself getting into a bargain when I asked for the price of a mug in US dollars and was invited to sit down for tea. Oh, no…

“Because you have beautiful face, I will offer you discount.” Right…

I guess my first attempt at bargaining wasn’t too shabby since I brought the price down from $15 to $10. Following the transaction I thanked him for the tea and started gathering my belongings.

“Miss, how long you stay here?” I told him until tomorrow. “Oh, oh… May I give you my Hotmail?” Um, sure. We swapped email addresses and then he asked if I have a boyfriend. I told him “Yes,” fearing the next question on his mental flowchart had I responded otherwise.

“Oh, oh… In Egypt, my father show me women and I choose.”

“Yes, I’m familiar. Statistically-speaking, arranged marriages tend to work better than non-arranged,” I said.

“Speaking?”

I said more slowly, “Statistics…say…’arranged’…is…better…than…’not.’”

“What is sticks?”

I said even more slowly, “Sta-ti-stics.”

“Sticks?”

I waved my hand to shoo off the topic, “This was very good tea, thank you.”

“Only for you, Miss, only for you. You know, I be here all the time,” he held up his cell phone. “You may call when have question.”

I politely declined and said I would be gone most of the day. I shook his hand; he then pulled me closer and said, “Ah, your hands are so cold…”

“Yeah, that’s normal.”

“Please don’t be shy if need something.”

“Okay, thank you, okay!” I got my hand back and started for the door.

“Good bye, you have good one!”

I left. A few minutes later I had some buyer’s remorse, realizing the mug wasn’t exactly “drinking material.” Ten bucks…

10:00 AM came around and so did our private tour guide, who looked about 30-years-old and had well-spoken English. On the way to the Valley of the Kings (where all the Ramseseses and the Tut are buried, along with 50-something other pharaohs), the guide told us a bit about Egypt’s history and culture, the Pyramids (the largest contains 100,000,000 stones and took only 20 years of construction--incredible!), etc. When he began speaking about marriage in the Muslim culture, my aunt asked him if he was married to the Muslim woman.

“No, I do not like those women,” (Why not?) “Because after you marry them, they become fat.”

(Reminder: I was told--however it might be true--that because Muslim men and women cannot date, the men sometimes take out their “sexual frustrations” on women outside the Muslim community. So when we arrived at the Valley my aunt whispered to me, “Can you imagine that he’s probably a virgin and hasn’t even exploded?”)

At the Valley I went into Ramses IV’s tomb, Ramses IX’s tomb, and the tomb of one of those Ramses’ 200 children (That guy lived to be…93?...And had 40 wives. They called him the “Busy King”). Unbelievably, the tombs’ walls still contained hieroglyphic paint after thousands of years made of mashed up flowers, rocks, and egg whites.

Anyway, my aunt waited while I explored two of the tombs because, after being around the world more times than fingers can count, she's well, seen everything. On the way back to the van my aunt said out loud, “You know what our guide asked me while you were gone? He asked if he can have some alone time with you while we visit the Temple of Hatshepsut!” Clearly, our guide was very embarrassed and shook his head in slight fear.

The Temple of Hatshepsut was also magnificent. (I recommend researching her bio.) Having three levels--one of which was terrorized in '97--it was carved right into a rock hill. The view from the third level shows dry, rocky Luxor in the foreground and vegetation being harvested in the background. I’m pretty sure that image has been permanently nailed to my memory wall.

After my solitary sight-seeing, I met the guide in the café near the Temple's base (Auntie was in the van with “Sa-sa” the driver.) and he immediately offered me a drink. I politely declined.

Walking back to the van again, he asked me, “At what age do Americans date?” I told him at the start of adolescence.

“Hmm, would you ever consider an Egyptian boyfriend?” Ugh.

“Well no, cultural differences might make that challenging.”

“What if he is open-minded?”

“I wouldn't count on it.” I explained that I once dated someone from a Mexican upbringing, which was frustrating because he had possessive tendencies and his mother wanted me to learn to cook. I hate cooking.

After the private tour I told my aunt about this conversation, and boy, was she miffed! Of course, he didn’t want to date me (not with so many years of celibacy pressuring him to pop the lid). The agency where we booked the tour is probably getting a smack down as I type this.

Auntie and I ended the day with a short trip to the Temple of Karnak, which is (probably) one of the most esteemed structures on the planet. It covers so much ground and is/was supported by hieroglyphic-covered columns about half a Sycamore's diameter. There are also a couple of obelisks, whose siblings (if I’m correct) were taken by the Romans (One stands in the middle of Vatican City.) and others. There’s one in New York and another in Paris, but my fuzzy memory isn’t confident.

Today we head back to Cairo and have dinner with the Italians again.

The Egypt and Greece Chronicles: Part III

Yesterday, 12 December, my aunt and I began the day with a short trip to a place called Khan el-Khalili (sp?) where there was a public square with gorgeous architecture. It might have been a religious center, but religious or not, the main building had a sign that read in both Arabic and English, “No women allowed inside.” It was time for prayer because we heard haunting music playing throughout the area; some pedestrians even stopped and closed their eyes. My aunt told me some of the lyrics go something like, “I profess that there is no God but Allah and Muhammad is the messenger of God/Come to prayer/Come to the good/Allah is most great…”

The streets behind the square were old, narrow, full of cats (Dog ownership is frowned upon in the Middle East because Muhammad said they’re unclean.), and contained many tiny shops. Some shops probably couldn’t hold more than ten people, and others probably no more than five. We stepped inside one shop to get my aunt a new traveling spinner. What’s fascinating about a shopping experience in the Middle East (Well, I’m not sure it’s completely unique to the Middle East.) is that if you’re going to take time to look at their merchandise, they take you to a remote part of the shop where they serve you tea, put a few options in front of you, and then begin the bargaining process. Raised on fixed prices, I found I had no patience for this and could equate watching my aunt bargaining with “Imon” (eye-mon) to a comedic tennis match. One needs to maintain a sense of humor while bargaining.

She eventually lost interest and we moved on to another shop. A couple of men working at the previous one had followed us. The two men working in this new one gave my aunt some options, she chose one, and I suggested that it can’t be worth more than $40.

“I tell you what: because man behind you is my friend, I offer you discount.” Yeah, like we haven’t heard that one before.

She bought the chosen one at the price I suggested, and before leaving I got a picture with the vendor. My aunt stepped out the shop and I shook hands with the vendor. He then pulled me closer and said, “You have beautiful eyes and look Egyptian. How about a kiss?” He turned his cheek toward me and I politely declined. It had been the third comment on my eyes since I arrived in Egypt and I was starting to think that Egyptian men really go for that kind of thing (probably because that’s all one can really see on most Muslim women).

“When you turned around he and the otha guy stared at your ass. They wouldn’t ever do that to a Muslim woman,” my aunt said.

The Egyptian Museum was a short distance away, so we moseyed over to see the mask and coffin of the famous King Tut. (I can smell Stephanie’s jealousy from California :-P.) On the way over another sandstorm was brewing, and I noticed a barrier surrounding a large hole in front of the museum that looked a lot like Ground Zero in New York. Turns out that's where they had some terrorist bombings (as a statement against Christianity?).

The museum had incredible pieces. But what really baffled me was, unlike in the States, one could sit and relax at the base of a sculpture, and the display cases housing some of the mummies and coffins looked like they could be opened easily like cabinets. Also, locating anything with descriptions was like looking for Waldo; my guess is they do that so the museum can produce additional income with guides, who approach you periodically to ask if you’re interested. That, again, illustrates the desperation of a poor country—they always have their hand out.

The King Tut room was packed with tourists. The mask, much to our relief, had a description attached to it saying that it contained 11 kilo of gold. Jebus! And the three-layered coffin and jewelry were just as breathtaking with their many minor details. Those Egyptian royals…so spoiled…

On the way back my aunt mentioned that we’re going to have dinner with the Italians again later this week.

“Man, isn’t Jacomo just a hot piece of ass? I might be old, but I’m not dead. And by the way, I think Alessandro was really taken by you; I’d never seen him so quiet. Either that or he’s a player,” she said, Jacomo (JOCK-o-mo) being the 22-year-old and Alessandro the 32-year-old.

After we returned to the hotel around 2 PM, I used the rest of the day to sleep off the leftover jet lag. I woke up and knocked out periodically, and then found myself at the point of no return for sleep at 3 AM. Sigh…

The Egypt and Greece Chronicles: Part II

It's a little after 10pm in Cairo as I begin to type. This day couldn't have been any more fascinating.

At around noon thirty my aunt and I hailed a cab to get to the Pyramids, and in this cab I experienced yet another episode of culture shock: the cab was an independent, looked like a crappy toy car, and had no seat belts. Twice we got pulled over, once (we're guessing) because the cabbie didn't set the meter and then because he had driven out of the boundaries for independent cab drivers, where normally a government official would take over (Egypt has a major theft problem in tourism, which is obviously a large income-producing industry for them). It's nerve-racking (but definitely adrenaline-inducing) being told to stop in who-knows-where completely surrounded by maniacal Egyptian traffic (I liken it to Indian traffic) with not only cars, but also teenage boys riding donkey carts full of who-knows-what; also, the language barrier between the two bickering men didn't provide much assistance to understanding the situation, and the disgusting scenery that is Egyptian apartments wasn't too comforting. BUT, it was something I will never forget. In the words of my aunt, "You can't make this stuff up."

So two traffic tickets later, we felt pity toward the cabbie and decided to buy him some KFC :-). He was grateful.

Almost at the pyramids we were stopped AGAIN by a man wearing all denim and looking suave. He and the cabbie began to argue over something-er-other, and it being the third time around of bickering I was beginning to think that this was typical communication for Egyptians. But what turned it around was that the man decided to join us in the cab. At this point my aunt started to get a strange look on her face because she was sensing a scam brewing up.

Looking at my aunt, "Madame, where are you going? Are you American?"

"The Pyramids and the Sphinx, and yes."

"'Give me back my silver.' Ah, the Pyramids and Sphinkes? I tell you what, I take you on special tour for good price. We take camel or carriage ride, you choose."

(Keep in mind that my aunt is a New Yorker, born and raised; she and my dad are probably the reason for my potty mouth) My aunt replied, "No no no, you're gonna take us somewhere remote and make us pay $100 or you won't let us go. We're not gonna fall for that bullshit!"

"But madame..."

Somehow we ended up at some remote sandy "alley" close to the Pyramids but no cigar. "HELL no, we want to go to the entrance of the Pyramids. Take us to the entrance."

"But madame, this is the entrance. I take you both on private tour on camel and inside Pyramid. Then we see Sphinkes and we take picture of you on camel."

"NO! TAKE US TO THE ENTRANCE OF THE FUCKING PYRAMIDS!" This went on for a good five minutes.

He then looked at me, "Miss, would you like private tour?'

"No."

"TAKE US TO THE ENTRANCE!" So the cabbie backed out of the "alley" and took us to the entrance. Persistence, persistence.

Again, you can't make this up...

We got our tickets to enter, stepped through the sensors, and made our merry way...and goodness gracious, it was amazing! Pyramids, pyramids, pyramids! Full of pyramids and people. And speaking of people, one thing to know about children in these foreign countries is that even THEY know how to pickpocket. They say, "HEL-lo, eshuse me, can you take picture?" And when you're fiddling around with the camera and being distracted by some of them, another will slip a hand into your purse and take anything of high value. So you can believe me when I say that anytime a group of children approached us like a swarm of locusts I would run off while keeping my hands over my pockets. It's hard to appreciate historical landmarks when people are trying to rob you. I wanted to put on my New York face to tell them (and any other thief/scam/vendor) to fuck off, but I remember my aunt telling me something along the lines of, "No no, since it's not New York, they would actually take that personally."

While avoiding children, a man on a camel approached us asking if we wanted a ride for "20 and 20" and if we are American. We told him "Later" and "Yes." He replied, "Give me back my silver." Not kidding. And while we were walking, a large military van drove by shouting a bunch o' nothings.

"They were shouting at you, Holly. They think you're pretty."

"Oh, how nice of them."

"Well it is, but they think you're a whore because you're American." Oh, how nice. THAT would explain the part when a vendor invaded my privacy by attempting to stick some tourism shit down the front of my jacket.

Anyway, Camel Guy and another man on camelback had followed us the entire time. So after trying to get a good look at the Pyramids we took them up on the camel ride.

"20 and 20, and you better take us to the 'Sphinkes' and let us down," said my aunt, referring to the aforementioned $100 scam.

Not even three minutes into the ride my aunt freaked out on the camel, and the men tried calming her down because she was arousing fear and anger out of the camel. Camel noises aren't too attractive. A couple more minutes my aunt suggested I get off the camel so as to not be taken to a remote area. I got off, she paid them "20 and 20" plus a generous tip, and we started for the Sphinkes on foot. The men began calling for us saying we didn't pay enough.

"YOU SAID 20 AND 20, AND I GAVE YOU 20 AND 20!"

"Madame..."

"20 AND 20! 20 AND 20!" Persistence, persistence.

The Sphinkes was AMAZING, but after a few we were somewhat interrupted by...a sandstorm. Not making this up. A sandstorm in the middle east! My hair turned to straw! Everyone, tourists and citizens, began moseying their way (backwards) toward the exit, and my aunt and I regretted not being equipped with veils to cover our faces.

We took an official government cab back to the hotel. During the ride back, the cabbie lit up a cigarette, and I suffocated the whole way back.

To end the day, a few hours ago my aunt surprised me with...(drum roll)...a Japanese dinner with two GORGEOUS Italian men she had met before my arrival in Cairo. I kid you not. Two charming, authentic Italian men, one the age of 22 and the other 32, both engineers. Both I believe, according to my understanding of their bippity boppity, have been "here since Deshember but will not let me feeneesh." The younger one works in a factory and the other trains Egyptians in...tile laying? Something like that. Anyway, the older one asked for my contact information in case he visits LA and wants a tour. I told him what we have in LA is no Pyramid or Leaning Tower of Pisa, but sure. It was a wonderful ending to an insane but riveting day in Egypt.