Trifter

When I got off the plane in Cairo, Egypt I knew right away, like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, that I was a far way from home. I lived in Maine for most of my life and except for the few trips to Canada, I had never really been outside the United States. I went to Cairo in March and I had left Maine with a coat on, praying it wouldn’t snow and ruin takeoff. By the time I reached Egypt a day later, I had shed the coat, changed into a lighter shirt and wished I had a portable fan. It is warm, warm enough to be in shorts, which is something that both myself and my mother, who is traveling with me, are not used to seeing in the month of March. A man greets us, from the travel company we were using, and takes us to exchange our American dollars to Egyptian pounds. Afterwards we pick up our luggage and walk to meet our Egyptian tour guide, Amr.

Not only was the temperature a shock, but also the whole culture itself. Cairo, with a population of almost 9 million seemed very large and crowed to me, a person who lives in a small Maine town of 997 people. After being picked up and driven to the hotel, I had a chance to look at some of the 500 Cairo mosques and building, which in a city with the majority of the inhabitants being Muslim, adorned nearly every block. Along with the Mosques were the many-leveled apartments that housed the Cairo Inhabitants, a place called “The City of the Dead.” Over half the city lives there, a living cemetery that crams people together much like trailer parks. We drive to our hotel, but this Cairo, a city with twenty million residents, and driving is not easy. “Everyone drives pretty fast in Cairo,” said Amr, in perfect English. “But we hardly ever have accidents.” Egyptians do not, however, have many driving laws. There is much horn blowing and sharp turns into traffic; yet surprisingly no one wears seat belts. I exchange looks with my mother and decided it was a small miracle that we made it to the hotel. After resting there the night, Amr assures us that he would pick us up in the morning to tour the great pyramids.

In the same city that houses the City of Dead, there are ancient pyramids and a gigantic sphinx. As my mother and I look up at the Pyramids of Giza, I marvel at the fact that such things are still standing today. Some of the stone is falling apart and some of the pyramids are missing pieces. Still, tourists can walk right up to the pyramids and as the base; vendors and camels roam the outskirts, looking to sell their wares. For those who have not been, the pyramids are a breathtaking work of art. Built in the 4th century BCE, they still stand magically today. “Be careful of people looking to sell you things,” warned Amr as he let us out of the car. “ And watch for people looking for baksheesh.” Baksheesh isan Arabic word for tips, something that are often asked for by vendors or anyone who happens to help you even for a minute. We get out of the car and walk towards the pyramids, confident that we can handle anything that comes our way.

The first man we encounter gives us a present, a scarab beetle (a good luck charm in Egypt). He then offers to take our picture, but heeding the words of Amr, we say “no” and walk away. He follows us, realizing we are different than the average American tourist who might come his way. “If you will not pay baksheesh, then I went the present back,” he demands of us. We oblige and continue to make our way around the pyramid. No sooner have we turned the corner when we come into contact with a man looking to sell us his wears. He picks up one of the gifts he is trying to sell and precedes to place to a white head scarf on my head. “No, no, I do not need a scarf, I’m not interested!” I protest vigorously, but it makes no difference as the vendor continues to beg me to buy. Meanwhile, my mother is walking ahead of me, gesturing me to come. “I must leave now,” I tell the man. I am finally able to run away and continue looking at the pyramids. The excitement was not over for the day however, because Amr decides to take us on a ride on a camel near the Sphinx.

Riding a camel is like nothing else I have ever done before in my life, and even though I had seen camels on television, watching a camel and riding one are decidedly, not the same thing. First, one sits down on the camel while it is still sitting down. Then, it will climb up, at which point has to lean forward to keep from falling off the camel. At six meters high, it is a little bit daunting to sit atop such a high animal, even though it does not travel at a high pace. I clung to the camel and held on with my legs. “Ahh! My mother, who is behind me, lets out a cry as her camel is heading off on another direction. “Help me please,” she cries as the camel is loosing control. The camel herder eventually comes to the rescue and controls both of our camels. We slowly make our way on camels back to the waiting car. At this point, we realized that riding a camel was like riding a horse. The camel herder looked at my mother and said, “I’ll give you two hundred camels for your daughter.” I thought he was joking, but the expression on his face looked serious. Needless to say, my mother turned down the offer.

Next, we said goodbye to Amr and took a train south all the way to Aswan and Luxor, in southern Egypt. This was much like taking a train from Maine to Washinton, DC, but the train jostled from side to side. My mother and I said and watched the Egyptian scenery fly by, amazed at the vast landscape. After a day, we disembarked in a town called Luxor, a town well known for its ancient history and temples. If it was hot in Cairo, it was even hotter in southern Egypt, with the desert and dry air. We meet another tour guide, a young man, with a name I can’t pronounce or spell. He had a fondness for cigarettes and talking on his cellphone. “I give tours to English and Russian speakers, “ he tells us, in a thick Arabic accent. “I’m the oldest so I have to support my family.” He escorts us t o visit the sights. Southern Egypt is home to the Valley of the Kings, a place where the ancient rulers like King Tut and sixty-three tombs of other powerful rulers.

For centuries, the Valley of the Kings, located near the Luxor and the Nile River has been a place of popular exploration and interest. Even today, one can go down into a few display tombs to get the feeling of being buried six feet under. As we go into one of the tombs, it takes a little while for our eyes to adjust. I see a man standing by the doorway, an Egyptian. He follows us around as we take pictures and then he turns to us. “You must pay baksheesh for pictures.” I give him an Egyptian pound (equivalent to about 25 cents in American dollars), but he is not happy. “No, that is enough for a child.” I pay him five pounds and exit before he can ask for more money. After spending the morning there, my mother and I boarded the cruise ship that would sail down the Nile River from Luxor to Aswan to see the various temples. Before we board the ship, I decide to use the public bathrooms. Much to my surprise, one is expected to pay, not just to use the toilets, but also for toilet paper. The bathroom, for the most part, was clean and taken care of, but was not worth the price I had to pay the woman.

Next, we boarded the cruise ship where mornings could be spent on the top deck of the boat, then an all-you-can-eat buffet for lunch. In the evenings, there was often entertainment and the cruise ship workers were lovely and spoke wonderful English. Two workers in particular were enjoyable to spend time with. First, there was Mohamed, a teddy bear-like young man, not a day past twenty-three, who worked at the front desk. He loved Fifty Cent and American rap music and his dream was to come to America and make lots of money. We exchanged emails and I wrote to him a few times. “Egypt loves you Laila,” Mohamed said to me once. His friend, Jassim, was a massage therapist who worked upstairs. He was a happy man who played ping-pong with me. Unfortunately, we would hit the ping-pong balls out over the side of the boat, into the Nile River.

Laughing, we ran to the side to look over the boat. I think I lost numerous ping-pong balls that trip. That was not the only exciting cruise experience. One night, as we pulled into port, a group of merchants approached our boat in their small rowboats. They began to throw up their merchandise, pretty handmade Egyptian dresses. The idea was to put the dress in a bad, throw it up and then buyers would place their money in the bag and throw it back down. “I’m going to try and catch something!” I shouted to my mother. I caught it, but the prices were so outlandish that I had to through it back. This was, I soon learned, another Egyptian tradition. On top of the inflated prices of the dresses, tourists were expected to also pay the ever-present baksheesh. We soon arrived in Aswan, the destination of our cruise.

In Aswan and surrounding area, the temples are created as an almost shrine to the Gods and ancient rulers. Large figures of the Pharaohs adorn the temples and each one has the Egyptian hieroglyphics on the walls. The Egyptian slaves who worked tirelessly, expecting nothing in return, built Temples and pyramids, centuries ago. One temple in particular, Abu Simbal, was located on the border of Sudan and Egypt. We woke up at about three in the morning to make the van to see Abu Simbal, about a two-hour ride. Crammed into a small van with about twelve other people, I realized that there was nothing glamorous about Egyptian vans. We had to stop along the way, as one of the passengers was sick. Eventually we arrive, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to visit a temple of this magnitude. The sun was beating down on us, but the temple had much to offer.

Visitors are still allowed to walk into the dark, cave-like temple, but pictures are forbidden so as not to ruin the deteriorating walls. Looking up at the temples, I could never imagine what Egypt would look like without any of these ancient historical landmarks. The next day was our last in Aswan, and we had yet another guide, an older man named Humdee. He took us on a felucca, a sailboat-like boat that, in all honesty, came very close to tipping into the water. The idea was to sail to the botanical gardens, but with the wind, it was very hard to tell just how sturdy the boat was.

I am happy to say we made it to the gardens and back without an accident. “So have you ever fallen in?” I asked Humdee. He smiled at me and winked. “Oh yes. I’ve fallen in many times.” I was glad we were on shore. After that, he drove us to the train station and after that it was back on the airplane with a stop in Milan, Italy. Once my two-week trip was over, I truly missed Egypt. “Remember when we…..” “Wasn’t it fun that we went to…” My mother would say to each other, even today. But being in Maine again, I’m happy not to pay for toilet paper and have to pay baksheesh.