HUSBAND ANTICS II

From the last time that I left Ron on his own, I was fully prepared for him to revert to his bachelor days and all the repercussions of that. So during my time away in Ohio and Maryland this January, I did receive a few phone calls from a befuddled Ron who had not found my hiding place for the paper towels or the lightbulbs (I “hid” them in the same spot they’ve been in since we moved in… six months ago). He also told me during one of our calls that something was wrong with our freezer. He couldn’t figure out why there was “snow” in it. When I started to suggest some remedies, like make sure the door is shut, he quickly said, “When you come home you can put the house back in order.” Lovely. I wonder if I’ll need a jackhammer or industrial waste bins?

The night before Mom and I arrived in Cairo, Ron was on his own. Our friend Haitham had just left the previous day, so Ron told me he had a big “man feast” prepared for his night of singledom. He was going to feast (i.e., reduce his lifespan) on a big platter of steak, chicken and roasted potatoes and top it off with that world-renowned, indisputable-man-flick, “Finding Nemo.” When I pointed out that he might want to throw in “Die Hard” or “Terminator,” he said, “But I haven’t seen ‘Finding Nemo’.” Can't argue with that.

So the damage upon returning home wasn’t too bad. But Ron did admit to having our housekeeper come the day before we arrived to “touch up” things. I did find evidence of his shopping sprees, however, which resulted in a Costco-sized bushel of papertowels (because he couldn’t “find” the ones we already had), a vat of turmeric (which is destined to become part of our wills as I doubt there are enough lifetimes to use it all – though I’m hoping my up-coming release, “10,001 Ways To Use Up Turmeric,” will be a best-seller), bits of broken chocolate bars strewn throughout the fridge, in the door, vegetable bins, etc., seven half-empty bags of bread in the fridge, more alcohol than most frat houses have, “folded” towels in the linen cupboard (“folded” to Ron means “wadded and wedged” to me), liquor glasses in with the coffee cups, cat bowls in with the people cereal bowls, and obviously because I had “hidden” them, burned out lightbulbs in the lamps. Compared to the mummified onion (or "mumion") we found when Ron moved out of his Baltimore apartment, I thought this wasn't too bad.

As I shared (i.e., vented) my findings with him, he was quick to show me the monthly stipend I'd get from the Social Security Administration should he get hit by a bus. Yeah, he's a catch. And he's all mine.

The Importance of Friends & Loved Ones

I spent ten days in Wales, helping Mom with the task of sorting through Uncle Harold’s house and affairs. My cousin Jeremy had done a tremendous amount by the time we had gotten there, in terms of dealing with the logistics of registering the death and such, so Mom and I wanted to do our part as well. I found the distractions of sorting and tidying and making lists helped me avoid, or really just delay, feeling sad. I will say the effort involved in suppressing one’s sadness, regardless of how manic you become in focusing on sorting each and every drawer you can find, becomes incredibly exhausting. And by the end of the ten days, with the funeral the day before I left, I was extremely empty. I hate funerals, because I hate goodbyes. But I can say with great happiness that Uncle Harold would have been delighted with everyone who showed up to say goodbye. It really was unfair though that such a gathering of friends and loved ones was one he couldn’t attend; I think he would have loved it.

This gathering of friends and loved ones reminded me of my trip home to the states in January. My intentions for the trip home, in addition to the primary purpose of gathering up Clifford and Max from Mom’s, were to see friends, relax and shop.

I arrived first in DC, where I was going to spend two days hanging out with Robin, before I flew on to Ohio. I was so excited to see her! This was the longest we’d ever gone in not seeing each other in almost 20 years, despite emailing and skypeing and such. As soon as I saw her I completely burst into tears, and we stood next to the revolving luggage bins at Dulles, hugging each other and sobbing as if we were twins separated at birth. If I had any sense at all, I probably would have been a bit embarrassed. But I obviously had no sense as well as no idea this was merely the beginning of my sobbing fits.

I managed not to sob in front of Dad and Lori at dinner, but then reenacted my sobbing reunion with Mom at the Dayton airport a few days later. Then sobbed again when I finally saw Max and Clifford (two separate sobbing fits). I think the latter had a lot of guilt attached, as I never intended to leave them with Mom for nine months. I managed to subdue the sobbing for a while, during which I saw friends in Ohio and continued to shop like a lunatic (you’d have thought I was Imelda at a shoe sale). I had been amassing an odd list of desperately-needed items, including vegetarian boullion, mixing bowls, pasta strainer, mascara, etc.

The return plan was to rent a car in Ohio, drive back to Maryland with Clifford and Max, stay two days at Robin’s then head to Dulles and Cairo. Luckily we had left a few days for Maryland as we were hit with a huge snowstorm in Ohio the day we were supposed to leave and had to postpone it one day.

When I was making my plans in January, I had contacted all my girlfriends to see if they could get together for a group dinner. This way I could hopefully see everyone, but wouldn’t have to squeeze in ten lunches. We were able to arrange it at Mary’s house for the night before we flew. All in all there were eleven of us (Mom, Mary, Robin, Linda, Joyce, Kelly, Celia, Betsy, Shari and Valerie), and as soon as I walked in and saw Mary the sobbing ensued. As I greeted everyone the sobbing slowly diminished, but I think I was a bit dehydrated by this point too. The dinner was fantastic and despite the assortment of folks from my various different lives: PETA, the law firm, my attempted career in “security” firms, there was never a lull in the chatter din and we went well into the night finally bidding farewell at 1:30am.

The next day was the flight, and after an unsuccessful attempt to get Clifford to throw up before we got on the plane as he tends to get car-sick (we drove him around the neighborhood, but he refused to comply), Mom and I loaded up the car with all my can’t-live-without purchases and the cats, and I had one final sobbing farewell with Robin.

We got the bags checked (with my subtle attempts to distract the ticket taker while she weighed them), and got through security with the cats in their harnesses and leashes without incident – though I did have one woman ooh and ahh over Max and asked, “What breed is he?” I told her, “D.C. street cat.”

We had some potentially problematic issues in Frankfurt, where we learned that, while Mom and I were booked to fly on to Cairo, Clifford and Max were not. We did some desk hopping, feeling the best way to handle it was ask enough people until we got the answer we needed. We managed to rectify that one, only to discover at the gate that I didn’t have a seat. I was on stand by. They also noted, again, that the cats weren’t booked to fly to Cairo. By this point I was willing to stoop, so I started casually waving about my “Diplomatic” passport hoping someone would think I mattered. They didn’t. But luckily we literally ran out of time and they realized that in order to look into the cat issue, we’d miss our flight, so they found me a seat and we were all finally heading home. Lufthansa is my new favorite airline.

We arrived in Cairo, got our bags, had no trouble bringing in the smuggled mascara and nail polish, nor the 15 pounds of vegetarian “bologna,” and headed to the apartment. Once there, we re-introduced Clifford and Max to Chuckles and Ricky and the new, temporary, kitten, Albert. Albert proceeded to hiss a lot at the new oranges, but Chuckles and Ricky were merely like, “Hey, welcome home.”

I had done a lot of thinking on the flight home. I was still reveling from the amazing dinner the night before. During my time in Cairo I’ve had bouts of feeling homesick or missing people, but not much. I’ve been busy settling in, figuring things out, braving the traffic, and I rely heavily on emails and phone calls. But being in that room with these phenomenal women who I have known for the last five to twenty years, really made me realize how much I desperately miss their companionship. And also made me realize how amazingly thankful I am for their friendships. I truly wouldn’t be who or where I am today without them. Their influence on me and my life is irreplaceable and permanent and I am so grateful for each and every one of them.

I’ve met some really nice people here in Cairo, and some may turn out to be lifelong friends, but these women around that dinner table have listened to my fears and frustrations, held my hand when I thought my heart was forever broken, told me I’m crazy when I’m crazy, encouraged and supported me when I needed it, taught me life, cooking and dating skills, and most importantly stood with me when I found the love of my life. So, learning from Uncle Harold and not wanting to wait, I’d like to take this opportunity to say thank you for everything and I love you.

Sad News

On a sad note, I will be flying to Wales tomorrow for my Uncle Harold’s funeral. He’s technically my mother’s uncle, hence my Great Uncle, but he was never one for titles. We will miss him terribly, but I’m grateful I was able to see him in September. He was only 86, but this past year in particular was very hard on him so I can at least find solace in his peace now. Dealing with his deteriorating health has forced me to realize that despite our advanced-ways and medical achievements and all, dying slowly in the Western world is not a pretty or comfortable picture. I won’t get into a potential rant here, that’s what Ron is for, but seeing a dear loved one suffer is heartbreaking beyond belief. I love you Uncle Harold and will miss you greatly.

Minaret Scrambles

So there we were, on the opposite side of the street from the Khan, standing under the wooden roof connecting the two buildings that essentially created the Sultan Qansuh al-Ghuri Complex. Apparently there have been attempts to prevent vendors from squatting here, however you wouldn’t know it by looking. It’s the go-to spot for bras and lacy underwear (who wouldn’t want to buy those from a wooden pallet on a dusty street sold by a 14-year-old boy), scarves (I’m learning one can never have enough) and plastic hangars.

The complex of al-Ghuri was built in the early 1500s, and includes a mosque, mausoleum, sabil (public water fountain), madrasa (school for teaching the Qur’an), and a caravanserai. It was also a gathering place for Sufis. As the last complex of its size to be built before the Ottoman rule in 1517 AD, it’s apparently a classic example of late Mamluk architecture.

The one side held the sabil, madrasa and caravanserai, but Haitham and I climbed the other stairs to the mosque. The inside was quite beautiful, with an open central courtyard and towering open-air roof. The walls were lined with marble and limestone and the floor was covered in multi-colored marble. And there were a handful of kittens playing back near the women’s area (which is behind a screen, out of sight).

As we were looking around, taking photos and admiring the architectural details, Haitham was approached by a man who offered to take us up the minaret. Why not?! So we gathered up our shoes from the entrance, carried them through the mosque to a door on the other side and were led up a small stone staircase. We reached the top of the mosque and could see right across the tops of Cairo’s buildings. We could also see over the edge to the fabric/bedding/clothing/spice markets below. (Note the visual hiccup of minarets and satellite dishes.)



At the edge of the roof was the entrance to the square, red and white checked minaret. I’ve been told, on another tour, that this was the only square minaret in Cairo, however I have not yet been able to confirm that anywhere else, so it might just have been one of those “Cairo facts” that are thrown about. But apparently I can tell you that the five spires currently on the top are a misrepresentation of the original, which only had four. (And they thought no one would notice.)

So our guide preceded us up the interior stone steps of the minaret. I have to assume he’s done this once or twice before. Which leads me to wonder aloud why he doesn’t come prepared with a flashlight for his unsuspecting followers; because inside it is as dark as a moonless night in the backwoods of Maine. I mean, dark! Stumble along, drag your hand on the wall in front of you and use your toes as step-finders and just keep muttering, “I’ll be fine,” type of dark.

We were fine, and the view was worth the temporary blindness. Luckily we also had a clear day. So here you see, what is sometimes called, medieval Cairo spread beneath you. I know, looks a lot like the other parts of Cairo. But this dirt is medieval dirt.

Despite Haitham’s expression, we were both really quite proud of ourselves, having both admitted to bouts of vertigo at times in our pasts.

So, having taken our fill of photos, we inched our way back down. I declined the oh-so-kind offer of our guide to hold my hand, and instead just kept blinking and shuffling until my eyesight returned and I was at the bottom again. Haitham dutifully tipped him, however despite the rather significant sum, he was obviously hoping for more. Welcome to Cairo!

So we finally zipped over to the Khan for one quick errand, then prolonging the adventure we decided to walk home from here – which I have never done. Along the way we passed a guy selling grilled corn on a make-shift stand and Haitham bought one. My street food introductions continue and I had a bite and it was delicious! It’s just raw corn, grilled (or burnt) over hot coals while being fanned with a filthy mass of feathers (we’ll have to come up with something catchier for the marketing campaign). The guy’s fingers were charred black from turning the cobs – I’m sure there’s a metal tong store just around the corner somewhere.

We ambled on, through a fabric market, past the bolts of upholstery and satin and linen and lace. Past stores selling everything imaginable, and some things actually unimaginable.



We passed a huge open market that I’d only seen from cabs as I drove by on the fly-over. There were throngs of people everywhere, all along the walk until we got finally to the downtown area and stumbled home to Zamalek. By this point we were admittedly exhausted, dirty, tired and extremely thirsty. But oh boy was it worth it!

The one thing I forgot to mention that I also brought with us was a pedometer, which dutifully tracked our 16,000 steps, equaling more than ten miles of walking. I think Haitham might be trying to kill me.

The Streets of Cairo, Non-intrepids need not apply

So I have to confess something here. These two collective days wandering with Haitham have been two of the best days I’ve had exploring Cairo. I’ve just felt very free to go anywhere, as long as Haitham’s there. It’s not a safety concern, but traveling with a male fluent Arabic-speaker quashes all my getting-lost-anxiety. Plus, Haitham is an intrepid explorer and willing to go anywhere, which was great fun!

So after we finished at the two mosques, we decided to walk to Khan el Khalili, which involved us walking around the mosques, down the main street, asking a few people directions along the way, and finding ourselves facing a crowded narrow street full of sounds, smells and sights galore that would allegedly lead us to our destination!








As you can see in the pictures, the street led us through markets and shops, past vegetable stands, bread sellers (we bought some more for tonight’s dinner), fruit sellers, loofah sellers (Haitham bought a huge one for 1EGP (~$0.17) and said they were the best around – I neglected to follow his lead, so now I’m on the lookout for the loofah man), past unitentifiable meat sellers, past someone selling just feet (yes, just hooves), and sadly past a lot of live animals for sale, including bunnies, ducks, pigeons and chickens. We also passed shoe shops and the renouned “Tentmaker’s Street,” which is a fantastic old caravanserei of small stalls full of beautiful appliqué blankets, pillows and if you want them, tents (I hear people have them made for weddings and such).


This led us to Bab Zuwayla, which is a medieval stone gate dating from around the 11th century that’s connected to the Mosque of Sultan al-Muayyad (circa 1420). There are other mosques along the way (this was at least the sixth one, according to the map, just on this narrow strip), however we decided to leave them for another day and keep walking.


From here we entered the fabric, bedding and clothing area, so were luckily free from more live bunnies. Being a vegetarian in Cairo is really very easy for me, especially since I love hummous, baba ghanoush, fattoush, falafel, etc., however "bunny" moments like these make it … less easy.

As promised, our path led us right to the Khan, however before venturing in, we found ourselves being drawn into the Mosque of Al-Ghuri, and before we knew it, we were climbing to the heavens.