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…