Week in Review

This past week definitely felt like everything was returning to normal. I started Arabic, Beginner, Level 3 and I’m delighted to have Suheir back. I find that for 90 minutes straight I’m staring intently at her and my brain is whirring loudly trying to comprehend and answer. It’s fun, though I have to remember to blink.

Monday was a holiday, as I mentioned, and we celebrated October 6th by hanging out at home. Ron has resumed his graduate courses at the University of Maryland’s online campus (obviously) in database management. He took a few classes about two years ago, but then with the engagement, wedding, moving, and all, he put them aside. He enjoys them, but they are very time-consuming, so between working, homework and entertaining the cats, I’m definitely relegated to fourth place – but not complaining, nope, supportive Dip Wife prevails (for the most part – though whiny, needy, annoyed at time-suckage, never-going-anywhere wife has her moments, too).

Wednesday was my CSA trip entitled, “Walls of Cairo,” in which we were taken to see some atypical sites, including remains of the fortress walls built around Cairo in 1087. It was fascinating! I had the same great tour guide who showed us around the Citadel, but luckily this time she was not saddled with wilting westerners. We remained quite perky and were even able to keep up with her. I will write this up separately as we saw a lot and I ended up taking over 200 photos (and it was just a 4-hour walking tour).

Afterwards, a friend and I grabbed a falafel and fries at a fast food place in Maadi that I had never tried. It looked like a KFC to me (and they’re all over the place), but it was great falafel! I took a cab home and for the second time that day, had a cabbie offer me a cigarette – which I declined, and he promptly lit up. The first one, on the way down to Maadi, was quite chatty and I did my best to practice my Arabic. He asked first if I was French, then German, and finally I offered American (thought it might be fun to be French, but then there’s always the possibility that he could speak French and minimal as it is, my Arabic is lightyears better than my French, which is nonexistent). The taxi driver to Zamalek, though, was a bit obnoxious. Before even getting in the cab, I leaned in the passenger window and asked if he’d go to Zamalek (I always ask first, as Ron taught me). He asked how much, I offered 40LE (which is about double what an Egyptian would pay). He said 50LE, I said no and walked away. He drove up next to me and said ok. I asked again, Zamalek for 40LE? He said yes so I got in. As we’re heading up he says, smiling, “40 if no traffic, 50 if traffic.” I smiled in return, and said, “No, 40, I can’t control the traffic.” This went back and forth for a little while before I let it go.

There was a lot of traffic, gee it’s #$*$*%##**!! Cairo with 20 million people, what a shock! He made a few comments here and there about the traffic (as we were sitting dead still in the middle of it), and I just said, “It’s not bad.” By the time we got to Zamalek, I just felt worn down, so without a word I gave him 50LE (essentially $10). I told Ron that once in a while I’ll do this just to avoid the hassle and to give me peace of mind. The extra $2 is worth it to me. But what I hate is that I ruined it for the next expat, who he’ll try to scam as well. I don’t typically relent, but once in a while if I get a feeling that someone’s going to be difficult, I’ll do it. I’m more than happy to pay extra for someone who does a great job and doesn’t ask for extra. Then I’ll tip big.

This incident, unfortunately, set me up nicely for one of my outings on Thursday, to the Fish Garden (see next post). First, I went to class at the embassy, then had plans to take a cab out to the train station at Ramsis Square. I’d never been there, just driven by, and I read that there was a train museum there (how clever) and an entomological museum (curiosity wins out). So I grabbed a cab and he took me straight to the station. I asked if he knew where the museum (pr. matHaf) was, and he said right in front. Well, I guess technically anything is “right in front” depending on your point of view. But I was apparently never facing the right way. I walked all over, around, in and out, through, under and in between. Finally I gave up, and being that there’s not a lot in the area that appeared to be of interest, I opted to just walk in the general flow of human traffic, figuring they had to be going somewhere.

There was one little incident that happened in the train station. I was walking around inside and admiring the tiled mosaics along the wall, the clock perched high to tell you you’re running late, the stalls selling candy and magazines. Aside from all the gallibayas and hijabs, it was very similar to any train station in Europe – three sides, one open allowing trains in and out, high rafted ceiling, and bustles of people and luggage. As I milled about, I held my small digital camera at my side. I have found that it can be useful to surreptitiously take photos so as to not bother or offend anyone. In the past, I have made sure to turn off the flash and turn off the display and it has worked beautifully, providing I aim correctly. As I was standing near the entrance ready to exit, I took one last photo and saw behind me a bright flash. Arrgh!! Didn’t mean to do that. Instinct took over and without a backwards glance I quietly pocketed my camera as I scooted outside. For all that effort none of the photos turned out – got a lot of rafters, very little else. Oh well, next time.

So I found myself in a rather swift flow of foot traffic having no idea where I was heading. I knew enough that I was heading in the general direction of Tahrir Square, where I caught the cab and where I wanted to get back to. I walked along some streets with basic stores and stalls, saw a falafel stand with a man standing in front of a boiling vat of oil rhythmically grabbing handfuls of pale green taa’mia batter (falafel) with his left hand and tossing them into the oil, while his right hand gently stirred them with a long-handled wire scoop and periodically pulled them out when they were done.

At one point I was able to find a street sign and was pleased to learn that I was actually on Ramsis Street. I knew the entomological museum was at 14 Ramsis, so I started walking one way, came to 28, so I turned around and walked the other way, and walked and walked. No numbers anywhere and those buildings that weren’t abandoned, were banks or other businesses. There was one possibility, so I wandered in and asked the guards if this was a museum (pr. Fiih matHaf?). I got in response, “La, mish matHaf.” Darn. So after walking back and forth and back once more, I figured I better move along before the street guards start marking me as a stalker.

I grabbed a cab and asked him to take me to Zamalek, where my intention was to check out two small parks along the Nile. Earlier in the week I had checked out two others (again, this will be a separate post), but I wanted to complete these. So with great confidence I told him to take the “6 October” bridge. Only after getting on the bridge, did I realize I meant the other bridge. Darn, again. And since it’s a one-way street, whose one-way-ness is actually adhered to (which is unusual in Cairo), I couldn’t ask him to take me where I really meant. So I gave up and had him take me home.

I had some lunch, organized my thoughts and despite the growing issue of air quality here, decided to make a second visit to the Fish Garden. I’m delighted to say that the temperatures have dropped and the days are quite lovely. It’s warm, but there’s typically a gentle or even not-so-gentle breeze blowing, and it’s really pleasant. The negative for this season, however, is that the overall pollution in the air has gotten significantly worse with the added mixture of burn-off from the rice fields all around Cairo (Heather, do you have this in Tokyo too?). So now there’s often a smell of burning something in the air, which tends to manifest in an extra tickle in your throat after you’ve been outside any amount of time. Lovely. At least we’re not sweating.

Shopping Tales: Crystals and Alabaster

I do have to admit, the shopping here (when stores are open) can be really good. I’ve been on two designated trips to “factories” (really just showrooms) but both were really exceptional.

A few months ago I took a trip to the Asfour Crystal Factory. We didn’t actually see anything being manufactured, but we were let loose for a few hours in their enormous showroom.

Their primary products are chandeliers. Big, ornate, shining, shimmering, glimmering, awe-inspiring chandeliers. They have hundreds on display and apparently can also make them to order (again, keep in mind previously learned rules for custom ordering in Cairo). Standing under these behemoths, and pushing aside the fear of being crushed, you could almost imagine being Belle in the arms of the Beast, twirling around the ballroom (or you could imagine standing in the lobby of any 5-star hotel in New York, but the former is more fun).

In addition to chandeliers and sconces, they also had lots of chachka, some jewelry, tiaras (I think it would compete with my safari hat), statues, etc. They also had some stunning pieces on display like this Pharaonic chair made out of crystals. I didn’t dare ask how much it was, or even if it was for sale.

Apparently a lot of expats take advantage of these opportunities and buy a chandelier for their home in the states. Since we don’t really have a home, have no idea what it would look like if we did, and I’m just not sure that we’re the crystal chandelier types, I opted to just get some little animals and a pair of earrings. But it’s a relief to know that if the urge to get a 500-pound chandelier strikes, we now know where to go.

******

Just yesterday I toured a local alabaster factory and showroom. I had been, several times, to their store on Road 9 in Maadi and had gotten quite chatty with the proprietor there. Ron and I have been mulling over the idea of getting an alabaster hanging lamp for our dining room (see, I guess we’re more “rock” people than “crystal” people), and at one point months ago we had attempted to go out to the factory in Moqattam. Instead, we drove around for hours, just getting lost and unfortunately not really finding anything of interest (usually we do, which makes getting lost all the more fun – this trip just made us feel lost and defeated).

I had since seen the factory sign when we went to the orphanage – we must have passed it two or three times when we were getting lost and never saw the sign – and in this case there really was a sign! Anyway, the embassy arranged a tour so I went.

It was really fascinating. They get the alabaster stone from Upper Egypt (which is really southern Egypt – wikipedia explains it well, “…the terminology derives from the flow of the Nile from the highlands of East Africa (upstream) to the Mediterranean Sea (downstream).”). They bring huge blocks to Moqattam where they then break them down further using dynamite and chisels (what fun neighbors to have). You can see the pink tones even in the uncut chunks.

Also along here is a limestone quarry and we were able to peer over and see how they methodically cut out chunks. The quarry was so deep we could not see to the bottom. I didn’t even want to ask how people got in and out, though I did see ropes hanging down (yikes).

Next, he took us into the actual factory, which was made up of two rooms. The first room had two huge stone cutters. They were incredibly loud and rather ferocious. You can see that OSHA might have some very valid concerns here. Next door there were several machines in a row that were obviously used to cut down the pieces to their desired shape, be they vases, bowls, etc. The noise and dust were incredible, with everything being coated in fine white powder, like confectioners sugar, but most likely more harmful. Even though this is Cairo, where entire families ride on one motorbike (mom riding side-saddle in back casually holding baby on her lap), I was a little surprised that no face masks or protective eye or ear gear was being used.

Finally, we were let loose in the showroom. The store in Maadi is just a little room, but this showroom was much larger. There are essentially two types of alabaster, machine-made (like we saw, which results in very smooth cream/white coloring) and hand-made, which is darker and looks like it was found in some ancient remains (see photo). I did partake of some items, getting some Christmas shopping out of the way, and promised that I’d bring my husband back so we could look at the lighting options.

Tale of a Spice Rack – Lessons Learned

I’ve mentioned previously my excitement over having direct access to so many craftsmen and tradesmen. You can have all types things modified, made to your specifications, or made directly from a picture (we know of several people who either gave someone a picture from a catalog, or took a picture of a piece of furniture, and had it made, typically at much less cost).

I’ve partaken of this option a few times. First was when I was introduced to the gallibaya-guy at the Kahn. Ron had been saying, before we ever left the states actually, that we’d have to have “jedi outfits” made for two of our friends’ kids, Janey and Jake. Their parents are big “Star Wars” fans and have passed on the obsession and when we all got together for dinner, it often involved Princess Leia and Darth Vader look-alikes. So when I was in the shop in the Khan and saw an adult gallibaya, with a hood and a cloak, I thought it would be perfect. On the off chance he had kid-ones around, I asked. He said no, but he could have them made! What fun! So I placed two orders, approximated the kids’ sizes by guessing their heights with an ever-fluctuating hand and within a week they were delivered to our apartment. Instead of holding on to them for Halloween or Christmas, we just wanted to send them off right away (also ensures they don’t get misplaced). So here are Janey and Jake modeling their new dress-up outfits.

My next custom-made endeavor involved a cushion for a front hall bench seat. I knew that the upholstery team at the embassy would do side jobs, so I arranged for someone to come to Zamalek to give me pricing on the bench cushion (which I also needed the actual cushion for), as well as recovering our comfy chair and ottoman. He made the measurements, calculated how much fabric I’d need for each, and gave me the price for the labor. I’m still hesitating about recovering the chair right now (maybe we’ll do it right before we leave Cairo instead), but I went ahead with the bench seat and found the fabric at the Boulag market. I called him back, he came, picked it up, and about four days later, right at the beginning of Ramadan, he delivered a professionally made bench cushion, zipper and all. I was so impressed! And the whole thing, including the fabric, foam cushion and labor, cost me less than $50.

We have also been mulling over the idea of having some custom-made wood pieces created while we’re here. Nothing too big, we do have weight restrictions. But in addition to wanting a beautiful piece of furniture, we also have a practical need. We need to create a barrier between the front door and the fat felines. Well, maybe want more than need. But when bringing in groceries, or having guests, we either have to lock the cats up, answer the door carrying a large squirmy feline, or one of us runs interference which tends to look like we’re chasing chickens. Chuckles has already dashed out once. We now have our friend Ben trained to enter our house bent over ready to grab a cat. Annoying.

So I have designed a wooden screen type thing, that would act as a door, creating an enclosed entry foyer. In addition, when we’re not in this apartment, we could use it as a room divider. I drew up some plans, made measurements, even took a picture of the pattern I’d like to use (which I found on the U.S. ambassador’s front door – getting that picture took a little casual stealth). It’s essentially a pattern of squares with open areas. Now, since the purpose for this screen is to prevent cats from getting to the door, and while Chuckles may be a monster beast, Clifford is tiny and demure (well, he’s tiny), so the holes in the screen need to be small enough to prevent a determined cat of varying girths from squeezing through.

We had gotten the name of a carpenter recommended by a friend from work so we had called him to come over and “discuss” our needs. Well, other than “hello” and “yes” his English was about as limited as my Arabic. So our meeting involved a lot of wild hand gesturing, pictures, my diagrams, gesticulating on the wall, arms being used to simulate a door opening, me pointing at hinges on other doors, etc. And finally, I wanted to get across the issue that this should prevent the cats from getting through, so pointing to the diagram, then saying “not big cat” and using my hands to create the open square I pretended to push my face through. I may have just lost one of my Dip Wife badges.

He came back to us with a price that we felt was rather high, so we are still in search of a carpenter (and I will continue to perfect my mime impressions of a fat cat squeezing through a hole).

The most recent endeavor has been my spice rack. It started out with the simple idea of using magnetic tins with clear lids to store spices in. Now, they sell them complete as a set online, and while I liked them, they weren’t 100% what I had in mind. So I recruited my dear friend Robin back home into going to World Market and buying 20 tins for me and sending them to Cairo. (I had attempted to buy these online, but they weren’t available, and I even called the store in Rockville, Maryland to a) verify they had them in stock, and b) see if I could buy them over the phone – I couldn’t.) So they arrived and I was delighted. Now I needed a steel board to mount them on. Being that there’s no Home Depo in Cairo, or anything like it, I found myself playing with the idea of approaching various auto-mechanics, or machinery stores. I even had my summer Arabic teacher help me write out a sentence explaining what I needed.

Luckily at this same time, I was arranging with a mechanic to do some work on the Jeep. He’s an American who’s been here for 20 years, so I figured he’d know where I could go. Well, I needn’t go any farther than him. He said he could get me a piece of steel and I could pick it up when we brought the car to him. Yeah! He asked what sized I needed, so I measured and approximated and gave him the dimensions. When we took the car to him, he had it all ready for me. It needed to be painted and sanded a little, but it was a flat piece of steel. I looked at it and it looked a little small and asked if it was 40x45cm. He said, “It’s Egyptian 40x45cm,” and laughed. It was 38x40cm (ha, ha). But when I asked how much I owed him for it, he said it was free, so I guess I can’t complain too much. [However, as a side note, nothing is free in Egypt. I will delve into this more in another post, but suffice it to say, I got an email from the mechanic a week later asking how my spice rack was and then asking me for a favor. It was a favor that Ron and I didn’t feel comfortable performing, so I told him that we couldn’t, but did offer an alternate solution, which he declined.]

At this point in the spice rack saga, I had 20 tins and a steel sheet. I had decided that I needed some extra tins, so I begged Robin to go get me 10 more, which she did. I then thought of taking the steel to the framers to have framed, so I could hang it on the wall, but then remembered the Black Welders in Maadi who I knew also did custom work. I dragged the steel down to Maadi and he said it would be no problem and would be done in two days. I was leaving for Wales in a few days, so I told him it would be at least two weeks before I could come back, so there was no rush (first mistake). I also paid him (second mistake).

Upon returning from Wales, we stopped by that first weekend on our way to the commissary. He told me it wasn’t ready yet, but would be ready tomorrow (meaning he hadn’t done it and needed less than a day to complete it). When I said, “You said it would take two days and it’s been three weeks,” he smiled and said “Yes.” I wasn’t pleased, but said I’d be back in a week. I was. We returned the following Friday at which point he said his factory was closed today but he immediately added that he’d have it delivered to our house. So I gave him our address in Zamalek and on my way out inquired about a book/plate stand. He told me just to take it, so I thanked him and walked out. Now begins the two and a half weeks of me calling, them promising to deliver it “tonight” and then me calling again. I even called on the Eid and Ron berated me for calling on their “Christmas,” to which I don’t think I had anything nice to say. On my last call I actually heard myself saying, “My husband works for the American embassy and he’s furious about this!” Of course, it’s not like there’s a “Spice Rack Complaint” department or “Egyptian Shopping Aide” division. But I was at my wits end.

Finally, we got a call one night from the guard saying we had a delivery. I went down with my signed receipt. The delivery guy was very nice, handed me my painted, welded spice rack, and then said I owed 50LE for the book stand. I gaped at him a little, actually stammered and stumbled my way back upstairs to get some money. Luckily I had the few minutes to think things through so by the time I returned to him (with the money), I told him, sweetly, that it was my understanding that was a gift for all of the inconvenience. He called the owner, had a very quick conversation, and told me that was fine and he left. Good grief.

When I got upstairs I checked out the end result of my spice rack saga. I loved it! It was better than I had imagined. They do great work – just bad business. And I learned that I have to relax, expect things to arrive when they arrive, and no sooner, and to NOT pay ahead of time as that removes any incentive to deliver. So now my labeled, alphabetized, spices are happy displayed on my beautiful spice rack and Ron doesn’t have to hear me whine about it anymore.

Resuming normalcy – such as it is

Well, we (really I) survived my first Ramadan and Eid al-Fitr without seeing one live slaughter. I consider that a success. Maybe the guidebooks were overstating it, but I really don’t feel like trying to prove or disprove their validity. I shall take them at their warning-words.

The Eid (pr. Ade) is the final three days of Ramadan and is essentially the Muslim “Christmas,” in terms of religious significance, family, feasting and presents. Businesses shut down, and for three days there are throngs of people everywhere. In terms of automobile traffic, it was quite light, but instead of dodging weaving cabs and crazy shuttle buses, we had to snake through and around pedestrians on all major roads and especially bridges. (Bridges here seem to serve several functions, first to cross water or roads, second for young courting couples to hang out on – Ron refers to these at “Bridge dates” and admires the frugalness, and third it’s a place to see and be seen – especially true on holidays.)

Ron pointed out that everywhere you looked, there were new jeans, new sneakers, new sparkling hijabs and gallibayas, and all the little boys were running around with toy guns and all the little girls had gold or silver purses to match their new hijabs. It really was like Christmas, with everyone wanting to show off their new duds. Even the ancient sun-baked men perched on plastic chairs on the street were donning new white turbans. The evenings were filled with the sound of fireworks (which at times sounded unnervingly like cannons) and people laughing and talking well into the night. It was all very joyful and merry, and if possible, there were even more colorful light displays throughout the city.

As lovely and festive as it was, I’m definitely ready to resume life as I knew it, or was getting to know it. The Eid technically ended Friday, but Saturday was a weekend, and Monday, October 6th is Egyptian Armed Forces Day, where they celebrate “winning” the war against Israel in 1973. (There’s even a bridge here called “Six October” – a lot of the bridges are named after dates. The main one crossing Zamalek is “26 July” – this is the date in 1952 when the Egyptian military ousted King Farouk and Egypt has remained a police state ever since.)

Part of resuming normalcy for me (because it’s all about me), in addition to shops actually being open, will be starting up Arabic classes again on Tuesday. Technically I continued to take classes through the summer, but with a delayed start, because I couldn’t get any information as to when and where they were being held, plus my travels to Wales, and compounded by the instructor’s lack of any structure, I pretty much just learned how to tell time. Or rather, how to say time. At one point he was teaching us how to conjugate future tense, and he gave us “I,” “you” masculine and “you” feminine, and then stopped. I asked if we could get the rest, for those rare occasions we might need to use “we,” “he,” “she,” “you” plural or “they,” and he replied, “Oh, you want all of them?” I guess he had low expectations for our sentence complexity. But I’m looking forward to resuming classes with my previous teacher from Spring session as I felt I learned a lot from her. Feeling a bit embarrassed at my lack of progress since she last saw me has spurred me to do some massive cramming these last few days. So there are flashcards, notebooks and papers piled up everywhere, and I’m happily making verb conjugation charts on Excel. (Okay, I can hear the guffahs from here. I may be able to fight some aspects of being a “Type A” (or rather, Egypt may fight it), but if I can employ organizational methods where possible, I will do so. This was never more apparent when Ron recently went to use some spices and asked where the curry was and I told him they were all alphabetical. He actually stopped, dropped his jaw and stared at me as if he’d never seen me, or worse, had suddenly realized whom he had married. I think in terms of our differences, our organizational needs and methods are our biggest disparity, in that I have them, he doesn’t.)

I’ve also signed up for two trips/tours in the coming weeks, “Medieval Walls of Cairo” and “Mashrabiya Institute” (Ron asked if I’d be getting an honorary degree from the institute, so depending on my mood I may inquire).

We got our brakes replaced on the Jeep, our kitchen trash can that we ordered online has arrived, and I’m starting to look into flights back home so I can retrieve Clifford and Max who have been having way too much fun taking over Mom’s house in Ohio. So life progresses and hopefully this will be true outside our apartment as well, and I can finally get some photos framed that I’ve been carrying around for four weeks trying to, unsuccessfully, catch the moment when the framers is open.

Returning Home: No Hajj, just Extreme Exhaustion

So on our day of departure, Mom and I were up and at the Newport bus station at 6:00am, thanks to my cousin Jeremy’s kind offer to drive us there, waiting for the coach to take us to Heathrow.

The ride back to London was nicer than the ride out; Mom’s breath was considerably better than my last traveling companion’s. We slept a little, drove through some more small towns (no idea which ones), and arrived at Heathrow about 8:30am. This early coach was really our only option as Mom’s flight left at noon, so we had to be there at least at 10:00am. My flight departed at 5:30pm, but it was the only flight to Cairo so I came well-stocked with airport-friendly activities.

First we got Mom all checked in, luggage carted away, seat assigned, flight confirmed. Then, we took a train to the new terminal for British Air flights. Door to door, with walking, waiting, riding, and dragging my suitcase, it was probably about a 20 minute journey. Doesn’t sound like a lot, but when you’re tired, and your damn suitcase weighs too much (how can veggie sausages, a trash can, grout pain, some mugs and a wee bit of chocolate weigh that much?), it felt rather monumental. (I was curious where Heathrow fell in the realm of busiest/largest airports and was surprised to find that the King Khalid International Airport in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia is by far the largest, with 81 square miles of space – whereas Heathrow seems almost puny at only 4.7 square miles – but in terms of busiest, Heathrow handles the most international travelers, and if you combine all the airports in London, London is the definitely the busiest “aviation centre” in the world.)

Our plan was to check in my bags, then head back to her terminal, get a coffee and wait for her plane. However, British Air (I can’t speak for other airlines) apparently has a rule that bags cannot be accepted for a flight prior to three hours before departure. And I found out that when they say three hours, they mean exactly three hours, not four, not even three hours and fifteen minutes. So we found where you can pay to have your luggage stored (new-fangled lockers essentially) and I checked in the sausages.

So, we had our coffee, relaxed, and Mom made it through security without any incidents. I then took the train back to my terminal and proceeded to wander around, explore, window-shop, and try not to fall asleep, while I waited for my three-hour indicator.

In the last 30 minutes, I had reclaimed my suitcase, finished my book and was literally sitting on the floor in the departures area watching the flurry of airport activities. As I mentioned, this is a new terminal, so it’s sparkling clean, so much so that I had carried around an empty soda bottle for over an hour before I found a trash can (how is it that Brits can not only keep it spotlessly clean, but do so without a trash can in sight? Really miraculous, I think. Cairo has a similar no-trash-can policy, but it tends to lead to the opposite result of piles upon piles of rubbish).

I watched a whole slew of British Air employees, noted for their matching blue polos embroidered with “Can I help you?” on them, just milling about with almost an air of desperation to help people. As a group they looked like census takers waiting for the next victim.

At six minutes before my three hour mark, I went up to one of the hundreds of windows accepting luggage. “I’m sorry, but we can’t accept bags before three hours.” I looked at her and said, “It’s six minutes away.” “I know.” Boy, talk about by-the-book! She actually suggested that I walk slowly down to the farthest booth to kill some time. So I did. I walked through sections marked A through H, with either 16 or 26 windows in each. Then I stood slightly in front of one window and calmly filed my nails while I watched the countdown. In my final rebellious act, I walked up with great determination, placed the bag half on the scale (fearing a over-weight charge), and noted with a tad of glee that they had accepted my bag one minute early. Ha! Live on the edge, I say.

So now I only had three more hours to kill. I got through security, and was suddenly exposed to duty-free world and all the shops that just love an impulse buyer – Tiffanys, Harrods, Gucci, etc. What is it about a “Duty Free” sign that makes us consider buying a $400 ounce of perfume that otherwise we wouldn’t consider? Saving $20-45 in tax?

By this point my exhaustion was taking on physical qualities and I was doing a combination shuffle/stumble as I walked from one end to the other and back again. I did see a bunch of heavily-armed police ambling about – guess they’re supposed to make one feel safer, right? I also heard a gasp followed by a crash and turned to see a woman who had fallen backwards on an escalator. She was laying prone upside-down and wasn’t moving. They stopped the escalator and emergency came quickly and managed to get her standing up, but it was rather disconcerting.

Throughout the terminal there were huge TV screens high overhead broadcasting very long elaborate advertisements involving pixels blowing back and forth across the screen, become one person on one side, and another on the other. Then the screens were filled with “I love you” written in everything from candies to doodles to chocolates or flowers. In my growing delirium, I found them utterly fascinating. I also found myself examining the towering glass windows that bordered the length of the terminal on two sides, connected by the high industrial ceiling. It all felt like we were in a huge human terrarium, but instead of a captive lizard on a log, it was full of a thousand little colorful blobs in constant motion – I was a pink blob. (Delirium is funny.)

At one point I was sitting near the “Caviar House & Prunier” where I was subjected to their continuous silent promotional video -- ick. Luckily, I was distracted from that by a man behind me typing erratically and a German woman a few chairs away who chose to use her outdoor-voice while on her cell phone in the airport, so I got to hear, “o-k, o-k, o-k” over and over. At one point the male part of the beautiful sleeping couple across from me, opened one eye to glare at her, to no avail.

I continued to people watch and found myself amazed at two things in particular: what people choose to wear during travels (I mean, I guess if you can get away with wearing a slinky black dress and strappy heels on a plane, more power to you), and how light some people travel. Ever since I was little and would fly to see my dad, I would pack a carry-on with books, games, walkman/ipod, etc. I guess the fear of being bored outweighed any overpacking concerns. Even today, just going for ten days to Wales, I took five books. I know, issues.

So I was finally able to board the plane, get my seat, stow my gear and settle in. I slept a bit, watched the latest “Indiana Jones” film, and chatted with the nice couple from New Zealand who were meeting their daughter in Cairo for a vacation. They had a bunch of typical questions, “Can I drink the water? Is there crime? How do you deal with the heat?” etc. I answered everything and then found myself offering up all types of info on life in Cairo. I felt very excited about the adventure that was ahead of them.

Have to admit that the excitement didn’t last long for me. I thought I’d return to Cairo with a new sense of patience and calm, but in all honesty, being away from Cairo merely heightened my annoyance sensitivities and my type-A tendencies were raw and surface-level. I think it’s being in a country (city, village, basic hovel) where things run smoothly, trash is picked up and discarded, customer service is friendly and capable, promises are made and kept, appointments are held, etc. So returning to inshallah-land, will take some getting used to – again. But I did it once, so I can do it again. If nothing else, Cairo quashes the type-A with amazing efficiency.