Thursday, May 12, 2005
Alexandria -The Med-Oct. 2002
I visited the US this month for a wedding and to spend time with my family as my grandmother died recently. People have asked me if I experienced any reverse culture shock. I don’t think I’ve been here long enough to experience that but I did get a keen sense of how great the differences are between here and there and the gap in understanding. I blame the lack of decent media coverage for that. But I also must take Americans to task for one thing: unsubstantiated opinions. It is 100% impossible to understand the political situation here without knowing its history and its local nuances. I don’t understand it myself and I may never. But to have a strong opinion based on what you hear on CNN and Fox News is irresponsible. Don’t trust the media. American media are so totally biased, they can’t see straight. That’s all I will say about that. Oh, and it sure was nice being totally clean for once.
Before I left for the states, I had a chance to see the country’s other big city, Alexandria. On the Mediterranean, Alex is much nicer than Cairo.
It was founded by Alexander the Great and retains much of its Greek heritage it the form of restaurants and ruins. We took a train from Cairo for about $8 apiece. That was first-class. Which, I must add, was the shoddiest first-class seat I’ve ever had. The guy who led us to our seats — without being asked — demanded that we pay him for brushing off the seats. We gave him a couple piasters. The ride took about three hours. Once we arrived, we started searching for a hotel. It was about 8 p.m. on a Thursday night. Again, without asking, we suddenly had a guide who made it his life’s goal to find us a hotel. “At no charge,” he insisted.
Two hours later, after being shown a half-dozen crappy rooms, we were exhausted and attempted to shake off our guide. He followed us anyway, right into the Nile Exelsior, and demanded money. After paying him off, we settled into our 85-pound-a-night room and found some grub. A decent meal at 19 pounds (about $5) of fatta and shish kebab. We decided the next day would entail relaxation on the beach, come hell or high water.
We woke early and trotted off to find a bus to the beaches. We took a cheap bus to the clear other end of the city — the tourist side where hotels are over 600 pounds a night. We stumbled upon paradise. Clear-blue waters, fancy hotels, sailboats and restaurants. We took a tour of King Farouk’s (Egypt’s last monarch) palace, which today acts as a Camp David for the government. The grounds were immense and lush. Inside the palace grounds we spotted an empty beach. Upon trying to get onto the beach, we were stopped by a guard who explained that this was a private beach reserved for some hotel’s guests only.
Further down, we found the public beach crowded Florida-style. We paid the 10-pound entrance fee and went to find a spot. It was at this point that I finally looked around and realized something that had never really occurred to me. Islamic women do not wear bathing suits. They are completely covered. Headscarves, T-shirts and long shorts. They swim in these clothes. Refusing to let this bother me, I took off my shorts and top to reveal, yes, that’s right, my bikini. Needless to say, I laid out in the sun on my stomach and buried my head in the sand. Davin learned a new phrase in Arabic: “Get your own wife.”
After an hour, we packed it in and went in search of a seafood dinner. We had read about a place on the beach in a Lonely Planet guide. We took a taxi there. Turns out the restaurant must be having a down season. When we arrived at 7, it was as if we had woken up the staff. The lights were out and nothing was on the tables. They assured us that yes they were open. During the entire meal, the lights came on and off and the noise of a backup generator (that didn’t really work) kept conversation at bey.
After dinner we walked out to the main road and realized the power was out on the entire block. With no taxi in sight, we boarded a bus that was headed in the general direction of our hotel. The bus did a couple of turns around the block for no apparent reason while the driver ate some dinner. When he was done with his dinner, he had no place to stow his glass, so he chucked it out the window. An interesting ride took us back to the balady side of town (balady means local, or townie) where we settled in on our balcony with a couple of beers.
Because the area the hotel was in was pure-Egyptian, the night was alive with activity. Our hotel was surrounded by ahwas and shisha bars. The male-to-female ratio was about 100 to 1. We watched the games of backgammon until we were forced inside by the men who spotted us and insisted on gesturing at me. I guess they assumed I was a prostitute and that Davin was my pimp.
So our little weekend escape wasn’t much of an escape, but we did enjoy some excellent coffee and a visit to the city’s new library. An amazing building architecturally, the library is huge and modern. We must have spent three hours there.
Next month, the city is poised to transform as Ramadan begins. Akin to a Western holiday, the city is overtaken by strung lights and street vendors. Ramadan lasts an entire month and consists of fasting from sun up to sun down. And from what I hear, there’s roaring parties each night as the fast is broken. It is a time of no work and much carousing. It is also a time of little production (the work hours are from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m.) and heavy traffic. I also hear that Cairennes (huge smokers) become more than a bit grumpy as fasting includes no sex, no cigarettes, no food and no coffee.
Before I left for the states, I had a chance to see the country’s other big city, Alexandria. On the Mediterranean, Alex is much nicer than Cairo.
It was founded by Alexander the Great and retains much of its Greek heritage it the form of restaurants and ruins. We took a train from Cairo for about $8 apiece. That was first-class. Which, I must add, was the shoddiest first-class seat I’ve ever had. The guy who led us to our seats — without being asked — demanded that we pay him for brushing off the seats. We gave him a couple piasters. The ride took about three hours. Once we arrived, we started searching for a hotel. It was about 8 p.m. on a Thursday night. Again, without asking, we suddenly had a guide who made it his life’s goal to find us a hotel. “At no charge,” he insisted.
Two hours later, after being shown a half-dozen crappy rooms, we were exhausted and attempted to shake off our guide. He followed us anyway, right into the Nile Exelsior, and demanded money. After paying him off, we settled into our 85-pound-a-night room and found some grub. A decent meal at 19 pounds (about $5) of fatta and shish kebab. We decided the next day would entail relaxation on the beach, come hell or high water.
We woke early and trotted off to find a bus to the beaches. We took a cheap bus to the clear other end of the city — the tourist side where hotels are over 600 pounds a night. We stumbled upon paradise. Clear-blue waters, fancy hotels, sailboats and restaurants. We took a tour of King Farouk’s (Egypt’s last monarch) palace, which today acts as a Camp David for the government. The grounds were immense and lush. Inside the palace grounds we spotted an empty beach. Upon trying to get onto the beach, we were stopped by a guard who explained that this was a private beach reserved for some hotel’s guests only.
Further down, we found the public beach crowded Florida-style. We paid the 10-pound entrance fee and went to find a spot. It was at this point that I finally looked around and realized something that had never really occurred to me. Islamic women do not wear bathing suits. They are completely covered. Headscarves, T-shirts and long shorts. They swim in these clothes. Refusing to let this bother me, I took off my shorts and top to reveal, yes, that’s right, my bikini. Needless to say, I laid out in the sun on my stomach and buried my head in the sand. Davin learned a new phrase in Arabic: “Get your own wife.”
After an hour, we packed it in and went in search of a seafood dinner. We had read about a place on the beach in a Lonely Planet guide. We took a taxi there. Turns out the restaurant must be having a down season. When we arrived at 7, it was as if we had woken up the staff. The lights were out and nothing was on the tables. They assured us that yes they were open. During the entire meal, the lights came on and off and the noise of a backup generator (that didn’t really work) kept conversation at bey.
After dinner we walked out to the main road and realized the power was out on the entire block. With no taxi in sight, we boarded a bus that was headed in the general direction of our hotel. The bus did a couple of turns around the block for no apparent reason while the driver ate some dinner. When he was done with his dinner, he had no place to stow his glass, so he chucked it out the window. An interesting ride took us back to the balady side of town (balady means local, or townie) where we settled in on our balcony with a couple of beers.
Because the area the hotel was in was pure-Egyptian, the night was alive with activity. Our hotel was surrounded by ahwas and shisha bars. The male-to-female ratio was about 100 to 1. We watched the games of backgammon until we were forced inside by the men who spotted us and insisted on gesturing at me. I guess they assumed I was a prostitute and that Davin was my pimp.
So our little weekend escape wasn’t much of an escape, but we did enjoy some excellent coffee and a visit to the city’s new library. An amazing building architecturally, the library is huge and modern. We must have spent three hours there.
Next month, the city is poised to transform as Ramadan begins. Akin to a Western holiday, the city is overtaken by strung lights and street vendors. Ramadan lasts an entire month and consists of fasting from sun up to sun down. And from what I hear, there’s roaring parties each night as the fast is broken. It is a time of no work and much carousing. It is also a time of little production (the work hours are from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m.) and heavy traffic. I also hear that Cairennes (huge smokers) become more than a bit grumpy as fasting includes no sex, no cigarettes, no food and no coffee.
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