First Impressions

Friday, March 10
10:08 am CST
6:08 pm, Cairo EGYPT

The call to prayer just began echoing through my room. At first I thought it was the television, tuned to the instrumental channel by my accidental intruder/evening housekeeper, then I heard it was coming from beyond the closed curtains. I stepped out onto the balcony, and froze. The chant is haunting and sad, resonating above the buzz of automobile tires and horns. It’s a sonic clash against the neon streetscape of casinos and shops, but a meditating complement to the green gardens below. I think just now, at this moment, I realize I am in Cairo.

The sense of the epic, of that which is larger than life, is already sinking in, and I’ve only been two hours in the Middle East. In less than half a dozen interactions with Egyptians, I’ve felt a pride most Americans just don't get. This is a country whose history has become the world’s mythology. You learn about King Tut and the pyramids and Cleopatra in school, but they are such surreal characters, or inexplicable phenomena, or so commercialized, that they become unreal. I don't know. Having trouble composing actual thoughts right now. It's just a really sort of humbling experience so far. I think I always feel this way when I go to a foreign country, though.

To wrap up the journey getting here (which went surprisingly swift and smooth)… Dinner, where last we spoke, was disappointing, as our travel agent did not communicate VEGETARIAN to the airline for me. Beef or salmon, no thanks. I had a roll and a fruit cup, plus my stowaway banana from the bagel shop this morning. After my snack, I popped the snoozing pill hoping for a guaranteed knockout, since a food coma was not bloody likely. Apparently the antidote for a sleeping pill is a giant LCD screen two feet from your face. (Definitely need to remember the beautysleep blackout mask for next time, since I could still make out Jake Gyllenhaal through my eyelids.) Breakfast was served when the second, Italian flick was finishing up. Cinnamon roll, fruit cup, and ham & cheese on rosemary foccacia. I admit, the tummy was grumbling enough by that point to eat around the ham, which I deem much less offensive than beef or salmon.

Three-hour layover in Milan. Pretty uneventful, mediocre souvenirs. Still hungry and not knowing at all what culinary delights awaited me in Egypt, I filled up on mozzarella panini and Toblerone (ahh, Europe). Screeching babies on the next flight disrupted the quest for ZZs yet again. I daydreamed myself to semi-sleep for a bit, woke up and peeked across the aisle to the window. It was blinding bright and white, and I thought it was the sky, until my eyes came into focus and made out curving shadows and sparse structures. The desert.

We were met immediately at the gate by Hisham, brother of the owner of our Egyptian-based tour company. My reputation appears to have preceded me, for he knew exactly who I was. At this point I am assured that I “can relax now.” Finally! The bus ride though Cairo to our hotel (Oberoi Mena House) is startling in its reality, or the reality as I’ve seen in movies and the news. Maybe Syriana is just too fresh in my mind. We drove past palatial estates, the President’s house, military headquarters, and – of couse – CITIBANK, before heading through the dead city and Islamic Cairo. To be honest, it looked like a Middle Eastern Cabrini Green, with mosques. We passed a herd of camels trotting on the wrong side of the street. Horse-drawn carts merging with taxis and minivans, dogs and donkeys roaming about, a flock of sheep resting with their leader alongside the road next to a housing development, even cows slumbering and slurping from irrigated pools.



Crossing the Nile was momentous. I mean, c’mon, it’s the Nile. Goes back to that whole mythology thing, how these places and monuments just don’t seem like they could possibly exist, but look, here they are. The river crossing was also especially thrilling because this is where the tips of the great pyramids first come into view. As their peaks rose steadily above the skyline, so did the commercialization of the landscape. Not unexpected, by a long shot, and I guarantee I’ll be in those shops tomorrow.

We made it our hotel, a former royal hunting and sporting resort literally across the freaking street from the pyramids. My room is quite comfortable, and well-appointed, with the aforementioned balcony. I’m away from the main building, where everyone else is staying. Not sure why. At first I thought that meant I get a “special” room. But no, just an outcast. I was unpacking when a soft knock followed by a turn of the knob brought the (also aforementioned) “evening housekeeper” in to turn down my bed. He was slightly mortified to see that I was in here, and that he disturbed my privacy. No biggie, I say. Just good to know that the doors do not lock automatically. He folded up the top comforter, folded down my bedding (topped with room service breakfast menu), turned on the TV to the Mena House infomercial, and then – this totally got me – went into the bathroom and refolded the toilet paper into a little square. Quel service! I’ve heard about Middle Eastern hospitality before, and he’s doing a fine job of proving them right. I am completely ignorant of tipping etiquette here, however. Was I supposed to give him something? Or the porter? I never know! Especially not in a group sitch like this.



The whole group is meeting for the first time tonight at dinner (several passengers flew in on their own). That’s in 52 minutes. Forget the nap, time for a shower.