Sunday, June 26, 2005
Cairo-Survive-Dec. 12, 2002
I saw a bumper sticker today that read: “SURVIVE CAIRO: The rest of the world is easy.” This past weekend I had my own little game of survival. The weekend was the Eid, which comes at the end of Ramadan and is basically a two-day feast. However, Eid has really come to mean a day or two off of work and leaving town.
I had no plans to leave town and was growing increasingly envious of those who were taking off to the Red Sea, Cyprus or to the desert. So while complaining about my lack of plans at soccer practice, one of my teammates got the hint and invited me to tag along with his mates to Siwa Oasis, one of the five big oases and one of the furthest away — about 65 km from Libya in fact — on the other side of a land mine-riddled desert. Davin was stuck home all weekend with papers to do, so I accepted.
We were 11 and took up four Jeep Cherokees. The group consisted of nine Brits, Andy, Ian, Barnaby, Stuart and Becky, James and Nicky, Andrew and Sarah; one Scot, Simone, and me. The group all work for British Gas, most of them geologists.
The excursion started off with a bang, er, a flat, rather. Watching the boys in their linen pants and boat shoes change a tire was fairly amusing — and frankly took way longer than it should have. Anyhow, after that first bump, we were off without a hitch and arrived at our first campground in Bahariya Oasis before sundown. The first night we grilled out lots of meat, took a wonderful dip in some of the hot springs the area is known for, and listened to the drumming and chanting of the locals celebrating Eid. This was also the night of a thousand questions. It was like “All the questions you wanted to ask an American but where afraid to ask” night. It dawned on me how much the world truly revolves around America. I had always thought the British could care less about America and thought of us as uncultured and uncouth. And, well, they do. But they really care about what we think of them and why we don’t think of them as being just like us. One of them told me most British consider themselves more American than European. So many of their cultural references are the same cultural and generational references I have with my peers.
The next day we went in search of a permission form to drive across the so-called military road that connects Bahariya to Siwa — through the Western Desert. We found a tourist office where the guy promptly sent us to the police station, which sent us to another office with no sign where we followed some guy to another unidentified office where we handed our passports over to some guy and voilá, after 45 minutes, we had a piece of paper in Arabic saying we could traverse the military road. (Side note: None of the Brits have bothered to learn Arabic — leaving me as the best speaker of Arabic in the group … very sad.)
It was also here in Bahariya where my personal troubles begin. I apologize now for those of you who may be grossed out by some of the things I will mention. If you are easily grossed out, just stop reading now. OK, after my disclaimer, I will carry on in indecent detail. I started my period unexpectedly early. This was not supposed to happen until after the trip. I found a pharmacy in Bahariya easily. Explaining what I needed was not as easy. I told him “woman problem” in Arabic and I gestured with my hands what a tampon does. He handed me a box of condoms with a very embarrassed look on his face. I said ‘No, no, mish qwais, no good.’ Apparently, there are no tampons in rural areas because they are known to break hymens. And a woman (read: girl) who gets married and has a broken hymen will be divorced immediately and shamed into spinsterhood or worse since she has no proof of her virginity. So I settled for a box of maxipads.
Off to Siwa. The military road was the scariest, rockiest, craziest road I have ever traveled. The asphalt was so incredibly torn up, it was like driving on shards of glass. Therefore, we had to weave on and off the road the entire time to avoid flats. At times the road would disappear completely and become sand. And we passed NOT ONE SOUL in four hours. The only signs of life were the checkpoints where the faces of young boys in uniforms would light up upon our arrival so seldom do they see people. These boys are posted at the checkpoints for two months at a time. There are two or three of them at five checkpoints. And there is literally nothing for them to do out in the middle of absolute nowhere. And forget long walks at lunchtime, there are landmines all over the place. We brought them Arabic newspapers and bags of goodies. They also gave us packages to take from their checkpoint to their buddies at the next one.
We reached Siwa finally and were exhausted. We stayed in a really nice hotel and hit the hay. The next morning after exploring the town of Siwa via rented mountain bikes and buying some of the tasty dates which the area is known for, we met up with the guide we had hired to take us into the Great Sand Sea.
Amazing. The sand dunes of this desert are so smooth and truly do resemble waves. Driving over the dunes is both exhilarating and scary. Andy made me take the driver’s seat for a while and I nearly froze when it was my turn to drive straight down a really high dune with a 90-degree drop. The guide was at the bottom yelling something at me and all I could do was shake. I finally just went…and we basically slide the whole way. The guide is still yelling and I realize I have the brake and clutch in when I am supposed to be accelerating. I just couldn’t do it. It was so hard not to brake while going straight down. I finally managed. One of the Brits has a picture of me with my head between my hands after leaning safely. I will see if I can get ahold of it. The guide left us off at a place where we could camp out and took off. Another great sunset and star-filled skies.
The next morning we were met up by the guide who led us on more excursions and finally out of the desert and back to Siwa. We ate a local lunch (foreshadowing here) and got back on the road to Mersa Mutrouh, a seaside town a couple of hours west of Alexandria. The town was practically boarded up and we had to find a place quickly. We drove down a road that had empty and half-built resorts all located on the beautiful torquoise water and white sand dunes. We were losing sunlight fast so we ended up pitching our tents in between some empty resorts. We stole some plywood from a construction site for a fire. This was right about the time when I started experiencing some pretty intense stomach cramps. Ignoring them, I drank a beer and put on many new clothing layers as the temperature had now dropped fast and the wind off the water was fierce.
Food – some kind of corn-beef hash – was prepared and as soon as I smelled it – you got it – I got very sick. I threw up about 5 or 6 times. I thought all would be fine after this, but about an hour later came the next wave. Diarrea. It’s very cleverly called iz’haal in Arabic (get it? is hell?). So I spent the entire night getting out of my tent once an hour, trekking up a huge dune to get as far away from the campsite and my newfound friends as possible and trying to rid my body of this scourge in the freezing cold and whipping winds — oh, and praying there were no land mines left on this particular slice of land.
The next day I was no longer nauseous, but still ill. We had about a six-hour drive ahead of us and I was not excited. We stopped at an interesting war memorial and museum and then headed back to the city.
All in all, a really exciting weekend even though I am now stuck with a bad cold from the exposure. My new friends were very understanding and not at all off-put by my sickness. I also learned a spate of new words from the Brits.
Here are a few:
Sunnies = sunglasses
Sannies = sandwiches
Footie = football
Pissed = drunk
Boot = car trunk
Jumper = sweater
Overtake = passing (as in a car)
Cool box = cooler
Totty = a hot girl
Brilliant = awesome or good or great or cool or nice (used often)
Mad = same as brilliant
Sod = a jerk
Daft = a dork
Cheeky = smartass
I had no plans to leave town and was growing increasingly envious of those who were taking off to the Red Sea, Cyprus or to the desert. So while complaining about my lack of plans at soccer practice, one of my teammates got the hint and invited me to tag along with his mates to Siwa Oasis, one of the five big oases and one of the furthest away — about 65 km from Libya in fact — on the other side of a land mine-riddled desert. Davin was stuck home all weekend with papers to do, so I accepted.
We were 11 and took up four Jeep Cherokees. The group consisted of nine Brits, Andy, Ian, Barnaby, Stuart and Becky, James and Nicky, Andrew and Sarah; one Scot, Simone, and me. The group all work for British Gas, most of them geologists.
The excursion started off with a bang, er, a flat, rather. Watching the boys in their linen pants and boat shoes change a tire was fairly amusing — and frankly took way longer than it should have. Anyhow, after that first bump, we were off without a hitch and arrived at our first campground in Bahariya Oasis before sundown. The first night we grilled out lots of meat, took a wonderful dip in some of the hot springs the area is known for, and listened to the drumming and chanting of the locals celebrating Eid. This was also the night of a thousand questions. It was like “All the questions you wanted to ask an American but where afraid to ask” night. It dawned on me how much the world truly revolves around America. I had always thought the British could care less about America and thought of us as uncultured and uncouth. And, well, they do. But they really care about what we think of them and why we don’t think of them as being just like us. One of them told me most British consider themselves more American than European. So many of their cultural references are the same cultural and generational references I have with my peers.
The next day we went in search of a permission form to drive across the so-called military road that connects Bahariya to Siwa — through the Western Desert. We found a tourist office where the guy promptly sent us to the police station, which sent us to another office with no sign where we followed some guy to another unidentified office where we handed our passports over to some guy and voilá, after 45 minutes, we had a piece of paper in Arabic saying we could traverse the military road. (Side note: None of the Brits have bothered to learn Arabic — leaving me as the best speaker of Arabic in the group … very sad.)
It was also here in Bahariya where my personal troubles begin. I apologize now for those of you who may be grossed out by some of the things I will mention. If you are easily grossed out, just stop reading now. OK, after my disclaimer, I will carry on in indecent detail. I started my period unexpectedly early. This was not supposed to happen until after the trip. I found a pharmacy in Bahariya easily. Explaining what I needed was not as easy. I told him “woman problem” in Arabic and I gestured with my hands what a tampon does. He handed me a box of condoms with a very embarrassed look on his face. I said ‘No, no, mish qwais, no good.’ Apparently, there are no tampons in rural areas because they are known to break hymens. And a woman (read: girl) who gets married and has a broken hymen will be divorced immediately and shamed into spinsterhood or worse since she has no proof of her virginity. So I settled for a box of maxipads.
Off to Siwa. The military road was the scariest, rockiest, craziest road I have ever traveled. The asphalt was so incredibly torn up, it was like driving on shards of glass. Therefore, we had to weave on and off the road the entire time to avoid flats. At times the road would disappear completely and become sand. And we passed NOT ONE SOUL in four hours. The only signs of life were the checkpoints where the faces of young boys in uniforms would light up upon our arrival so seldom do they see people. These boys are posted at the checkpoints for two months at a time. There are two or three of them at five checkpoints. And there is literally nothing for them to do out in the middle of absolute nowhere. And forget long walks at lunchtime, there are landmines all over the place. We brought them Arabic newspapers and bags of goodies. They also gave us packages to take from their checkpoint to their buddies at the next one.
We reached Siwa finally and were exhausted. We stayed in a really nice hotel and hit the hay. The next morning after exploring the town of Siwa via rented mountain bikes and buying some of the tasty dates which the area is known for, we met up with the guide we had hired to take us into the Great Sand Sea.
Amazing. The sand dunes of this desert are so smooth and truly do resemble waves. Driving over the dunes is both exhilarating and scary. Andy made me take the driver’s seat for a while and I nearly froze when it was my turn to drive straight down a really high dune with a 90-degree drop. The guide was at the bottom yelling something at me and all I could do was shake. I finally just went…and we basically slide the whole way. The guide is still yelling and I realize I have the brake and clutch in when I am supposed to be accelerating. I just couldn’t do it. It was so hard not to brake while going straight down. I finally managed. One of the Brits has a picture of me with my head between my hands after leaning safely. I will see if I can get ahold of it. The guide left us off at a place where we could camp out and took off. Another great sunset and star-filled skies.
The next morning we were met up by the guide who led us on more excursions and finally out of the desert and back to Siwa. We ate a local lunch (foreshadowing here) and got back on the road to Mersa Mutrouh, a seaside town a couple of hours west of Alexandria. The town was practically boarded up and we had to find a place quickly. We drove down a road that had empty and half-built resorts all located on the beautiful torquoise water and white sand dunes. We were losing sunlight fast so we ended up pitching our tents in between some empty resorts. We stole some plywood from a construction site for a fire. This was right about the time when I started experiencing some pretty intense stomach cramps. Ignoring them, I drank a beer and put on many new clothing layers as the temperature had now dropped fast and the wind off the water was fierce.
Food – some kind of corn-beef hash – was prepared and as soon as I smelled it – you got it – I got very sick. I threw up about 5 or 6 times. I thought all would be fine after this, but about an hour later came the next wave. Diarrea. It’s very cleverly called iz’haal in Arabic (get it? is hell?). So I spent the entire night getting out of my tent once an hour, trekking up a huge dune to get as far away from the campsite and my newfound friends as possible and trying to rid my body of this scourge in the freezing cold and whipping winds — oh, and praying there were no land mines left on this particular slice of land.
The next day I was no longer nauseous, but still ill. We had about a six-hour drive ahead of us and I was not excited. We stopped at an interesting war memorial and museum and then headed back to the city.
All in all, a really exciting weekend even though I am now stuck with a bad cold from the exposure. My new friends were very understanding and not at all off-put by my sickness. I also learned a spate of new words from the Brits.
Here are a few:
Sunnies = sunglasses
Sannies = sandwiches
Footie = football
Pissed = drunk
Boot = car trunk
Jumper = sweater
Overtake = passing (as in a car)
Cool box = cooler
Totty = a hot girl
Brilliant = awesome or good or great or cool or nice (used often)
Mad = same as brilliant
Sod = a jerk
Daft = a dork
Cheeky = smartass
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