Goodbye and good riddance!!!

Today was scheduled to be my last day of work ... I've had July 27th starred on my calendar for weeks now. But last Thursday, as I was hurrying out of the office on my way to Alex, Mr Zarea said there was a new project for me - editing the English-language text of a series of human-rights oriented children's books HRAAP is publishing.

"That sounds great," I told him, "but I was supposed to finish working on the 27th. I suppose I can keep working as late as July 31st, but then I must be finished, because I have a friend coming to Egypt August 1st." I was assured that this would be no problem, so left the office assuming that I'd be working until the 31st. Lame, but since I hadn't had anything else planned for those days, not a huge deal.

Monday, when I returned from my holiday, Osman and I were supposed to start working. But the whole day passed and no Osman, something I usually rejoice at, of course, but this time I found myself a bit irked. So Tuesday, I emailed Osman to tell him my timeline and ask when he was coming over to the APRO office so we could get started.

A couple of hours later, Mr Zarea comes in. "You finish work on the 27th?" Umm, yeah ... like I explained to you. "Okay, that's fine." "What about the children's books?" "Oh, no problem. Osman will do them."

Hmm ... I've seen Osman's English, but whatever. Since I know for a fact that HRAAP doesn't have an English-speaking audience, I'm fairly certain the translation is solely for the benefit of the funding donor, and if it's choppy, it doesn't matter in the least. So, once again, my end date is set to July 27th. Hurrah!

And then yesterday, July 26, I was getting a ride from Mr Zarea when he says, "Oh, don't worry about coming in to work tomorrow. You're free."

HALLELUJAH!!!! I slept until the phone rang this morning (Ghada, wondering why I wasn't at work - ooops), and I never have to go back to that stupid office and pretend to be working again!!!

I didn't expect a stellar summer experience like a lot of people are having, but I really hoped this summer would give me a better understanding of human rights NGOs - how they work, what problems they face, and what it's like to be a lawyer there.

In fact, this summer gave me NONE of that. First of all, only the translator and the accountant speak English, and neither of them are the least bit interested in human rights (although Ghada insists that she was never trained in "human rights accounting" at school, and so has to be very creative in her job - cute). The lawyers don't speak English, and don't work out of APRO. Which means, after eight weeks, I have no idea what it's like to be a lawyer for a small NGO.

Additionally, even if these factors were different - I was in the same office with a lot of English-speaking lawyers - it wouldn't have mattered, because in Egypt, emphasis is placed on finding the first job you can, and keeping it until you die. No one cares if you like what you do, and you can't even choose your university major - the schools do that by your test scores. So, this means that the lawyers aren't there because they're passionate about human rights, or even about the law - they're at HRAAP and APRO because their parents wanted them to get a job! The one lawyer at HRAAP that I talked to, through Ghada, was her sister Ensar, and she hates the law and doesn't care one way or another about human rights.

The moral of the story: do your research before excepting a position! I mean, all I've really learned from this job is that I don't really want to work in Egypt. EVER. Valuable information, of course, but when asked about my summer experience during OCI next fall, I'm not sure it'll get me too far ...

Alexandria, Part III

Finally, we wake up ready for the beach! "Early" was a bit of a stretch, since we made it to the car about 11:45, but still, for Egypt, we were doing well. We were headed for a section of Alexandria called Agame, and specifically for La Piste. Yes, La Piste, the salsa club in Mohandisseen that caused us so much trouble. We had been told they have a summer beach club, next to the Sheraton in Agame, and so were on our way.

Unfortunately, our directions weren't any better than that, so we stopped to ask a taxi driver for the Sheraton once we hit Agame. And were told two very interesting things: first, there is no Agame Sheraton, and second, Agame actually has two parts. Well, we didn't know which part of Agame to start looking in, and had no one to ask, so we were a bit stumped.

Fortunately, it occurred to Mona to call her uncle, who's the kind of person who knows of all the nice hotels. Sure enough, he directed us to the Sheraton (in the section of Agame called Nouviel), we told the cab driver, and he got us going in the right direction. Finally, we find the (unfinished) Sheraton, but there's no La Piste in sight.

Sound familiar?

Now, when Claudia had shown us the La Piste card a few weeks back, it had a map with La Piste next to the Sheraton and behind another hotel, and there was a hotel right next to the Sheraton, but Mona was convinced we were in the wrong area, because other than these hotels, the area was mainly residential. Certain that a beach club wouldn't be built in a residential area, we drove around in both directions, trying to call someone on the phone who might know. Finally, we decide to go to the hotel next to the Sheraton and ask if they know, but before doing so, we finally reached Claudia. Who dug through her bag, pulled out the card, and told us that La Piste was next to the Sheraton, behind the New Presidential Hotel. The hotel we were at. And, once she hung up, Mona pointed to a bright yellow umbrella, proudly labeled "La Piste."

I'm convinced these clubs are so hard to find so that only the really determined people make it in!

Anyhow, we went inside only to learn that it's not really a beach club during the day - it's just a beach. Mona had anticipated a club atmosphere, because she'd been to a beach club in Agame before and that's how it'd worked. I hadn't really formed any expectations beyond a beach, so I was well satisfied. Anyhow, the beach was more or less empty, but there was a woman in a bikini (which was my sole requirement), so we decided we really didn't need music and beer and set up shop.

La Piste is bordered by a public beach, and the two are divided by a fence starting at the high tide line. On the other side of the Sheraton is another public beach (the beach to the Sheraton is closed until the hotel opens, I think). Thus, even though we weren't getting a lot of people on our beach itself, people would walk from one public area to the other, which means we still got out fair share of gawkers (bikinis!), but at least they had to stay near the water. And looking at the hundreds of people using the beach next door, I was pretty grateful for the 15 or so that had found their way to La Piste.

At the guidance of the other woman on the beach (the German part-owner of the La Piste clubs, as it turns out), we got ourselves these amazing beach bean bag chairs for lounging, went for an initial dip in the water and then spread ourselves out. Mona had spent the last two days telling her family members we were going to the beach so that I could get a tan, so that was our goal. I was very responsible, turning regularly and cooling off in the water, but I did skip the small detail of sunscreen (well, I was trying to tan!).

After about three hours and a few dips in the water, I decided I was probably done - I could feel a bit of a burn coming on. So we took one last trip down to the ocean, where Mona was unceremoniously attacked by a jellyfish! We think. Suddenly, her leg started stinging, and after we got out, we saw red lines across it. Her family had warned us, "Don't go to Agame! There are jellyfish!" so we know they exist. And, from what she said, it certainly felt like a jellyfish. So, I'm starting to burn and she's been attacked - definitely time to go.

Maybe it's because there's no actual sun in Boston, but I guess I'd forgotten the logistics of a sunburn. "A bit burned" when we left the beach developed into full-blown lobster-colored by the time we got back to Mona's apartment, where she generously granted me first shower. I stood in the cold water for a bit, then put on some pj's for much-needed lounging ... and suddenly was shivering, I was so cold! Finally, we decided something might be wrong, and went next door to see her aunt, who just happens to be a doctor.

I walked into the kitchen, and the poor woman shouted what I suspect is the Arabic version of "Ay caramba!" This was followed by (as Mona later explained) a big lecture to Mona for letting me stay out in the sun that long. She gave us some cream for my skin, and went to find a pain-killer. Meanwhile, I felt like I was about to pass out and/or vomit, so went back to Mona's apartment. I eventually decided I was okay, and then promptly got dizzy, fell over and hit my head on the wall.

This is when we decided that maybe, just maybe, I had been in the sun too long. I climbed into bed, and Mona's aunt solemnly knelt next to me - "Teale, you have sun stroke." Yeah, that was kind of what I thought as well. She gave me yet another medicine, this one for fever, and ordered me to take a cold shower, something which did NOT sound at all appealing since I was already so cold. (Mona followed me into the bathroom and made me climb in the shower before she'd leave me alone.)

We'd been planning on returning to La Piste for the party (starts at 1, ends when the sun rises, acording to the owner), but instead I unceremoniously sprawled under the AC and wished I could go back in time with a bottle of SPF 50.

The next morning, after a fitful night of sleep during which I was forced to remain in one uncomfortable position, I admitted that maybe this burn was a bit worse than what I'm used to. In fact, even today (Wednesday) I had trouble getting out of bed, because my legs burn whenever I start moving after a period of inactivity. This Mediterannean sun is BRUTAL - much more so than I'm used to. Our morning plans were scrapped, and instead we just puttered around the apartment until it was time to join Mona's family for lunch.

They too were a bit appalled at my appearance, but happened to have some after-sun lotion that I got to use, which was worth their stares and Judy's giggles. I'm actually amazed at how many Egyptians have sunburn treatment advice, but Mona's cousin explained that, as children, they all got really burned at least once or twice themselves.

Besides, Mona's cousin's wife (I really wish I could remember their names) had cooked a feast that definitely took my mind off of things. I had mentioned that I like eggplant (while eating the mashi), so we had eggplant salad, pickled eggplants, and baba ganoosh. Additionally, because I was there to eat fish, we had breaded fish steaks, whole grilled fish, and fish in a tomato and onion sauce. And, as if this wasn't enough, there was a cucumber and tomato salad, a huge pot of rice, sauteed potatoes, and a tray of clams to eat with tahini. The table was groaning with food (and, after the meal, so was I), and every bit of it was delicious.

I was, however, ridiculed at my inability to "properly" eat the fish. My first bite happened to be full of bones, after which Mona showed me that there was in fact a whole spinal column (or whatever fish have) that I needed to remove myself. "When you said you liked fish, I didn't know you only ate fish sticks." Ooops ...

To save me the trouble, Mona's cousin came over and dismembered my grilled fish himself, so that was more or less boneless. I explained to Mona that I don't need to know how to bone my fish, because nice people always do it for me (thanks, Mom!), but I don't think she believed me. ("It's okay, Teale. When I'm alone in the dark, sometimes I eat them too, and they're really not that bad.")

Finally, dinner was over ... we had some dessert from the bakery, and then Mona and I jumped in the car to come back to Cairo. Back to the pollution, the garbage, the horns ... I can't help but think that Alexandria is just a better place to be. For example, here the garbage service is so corrupt that the garbage is "picked up" by poor people who root through it and take what they want, and animals who eat scraps - estimates are 10-15% of garbage never leaves the curb. In Alex, the garbage is picked up daily, and in the summer when it's hot, twice a day. And, for anything that doesn't make it in the trash cans, there are street sweeping machines that run every day. Or the car horns - in Cairo, they're considered a legitimate form of communication, but it's illegal to use them inside Alex city limits. Definitely a more peaceful place, and one to which I'd love to return.

Just as soon as my skin returns to a somewhat normal flesh-tone.

Alexandria, Part II - For the Ladies

Yes, I know that I can't prevent men from reading this post, and honestly I don't care either way - but I just want you to be aware that, as men, you won't be interested in anything I write this time around, because Friday was very much a girl's day out.

Mona and I stumbled out of bed around 11:30 or 12:00 for a breakfast of chocolate croissants (one of her cousins owns a bakery franchise, and another cousin owns one of the franchises, which he bought in part with Mona's father's assistance, so she gets free bakery goodies whenever she wants). The plan for the day was to go to a coiffure to get my legs done, and then off to the beach.

Now, in the US women generally shave or get waxed, but Egypt has to be different, so here we get "sugared" - the salons use this sticky substance that (according to Mona) is made of sugar and lemon juice, melted down. Of course, most places buy it rather than making it, and it comes in little amber-colored bricks. They play with it until it looks like taffy, becoming opaque and stretchy, and then smooth it on over the offending body hair and pull it off, with their fingers, in a quick jerky motion, yanking all the hair out by the roots like is done with waxing. However, unlike waxing, one or two little pieces of this "helawa" (which just means "sweet") is all the process takes.

This process is done in most coiffures, and by all Egyptian women (Muslim men are very offended by hairy legs), so we figured it would be no problem. In fact, there's a coiffure in Mona's building, so we didn't even have to go very far.

Except for some reason, this coiffure doesn't sugar. Okay, no big deal - we decided to ask Mona's cousins where they go. As fashion conscious girls, we were sure they'd have an idea. Except they DIDN'T! It turns out everyone in Mona's family buys the damn helawa and does it themselves these days! In fact, her cousin offered to do my legs for me ... actually, first she suggested Mona do it, but Mona replied, "No, we're friends right now, and I'd like to keep it that way." Okay, fine - we didn't know a coiffure, so this was the only option. We just needed to run down to the supermarket to get some helawa!

Of course, even that turned into a trial ... by then, it was time for the Friday afternoon prayer, which starts at 1:00 and lasts for about 45 minutes or an hour. But Mona knew a store that was open through prayer, so we hopped in the car to drive there ... except when mosques are too full, they place prayer rugs in the street, so it took us about 10 minutes and three detours to get to a store three blocks away. Only to find that it was closed for prayer.

If I was a superstitious person, I would have stopped right then, gone home and pulled out my trusty razor. But no, I was determined - when in Rome and all that jazz. So we decided to walk around for a few minutes until the end of the prayers. Somehow, we managed to walk by a coiffure that was both open and in the sugaring business, and decided that the extra cost might be worth it to get a professional job done (not that either of us doubt Mona's cousin, of course ...).

Oh. My. God. First of all, Mona was talking for me, and she kept saying "arms and legs," even though I only wanted my legs done. And, of course, the girl starts with my arm. I think to myself, "Fine, no big deal, right?" Wrong. At least my legs are accustomed to abusive beauty rituals, but my arms were hair-removal virgins, and the hair was past the idea length of 1/4", which means it hurt even more than it should have! But I grit my teeth and sucked it up, thinking that it would get more tolerable as I got used to it.

And it should have, except it turns out this girl wasn't so good at the process. By the time she finished my arms and legs, she'd used three pieces of helawa, when Mona's coiffure in Mohandisseen can do it all with one, and it took a good hour (Mona had estimated 15 minutes). Yes, an hour. I spent an hour of my life having hair ripped out by its roots with a piece of candy, by a girl who must have been younger than myself. By the time we were finished, I was a bit sore and miserable, but at least I was ready for the beach!

On the less painful side of things, she also groomed my eyebrows, this with a piece of string that she twists a bunch and then runs along the skin. It was kind of an interesting feeling! (And by "interesting" I mean "not nearly so painful as the rest of it" ...)

Okay, so finished with that, we went to the store to get some stuff to munch on over the weekend (you know, to supplement our croissants), and then back to the apartment. By then it was about 3:30 in the afternoon, and much too late to head to Agame like we had been planning. It takes about 45 minutes to an hour to get there, so we had been planning an all-afternoon thing. Instead, we decided to go to Paradise Beach, recommended by Mona's cousin and only 15 minutes away. We put on our bikinis (and Egypt-appropriate clothing on top, of course) and hopped in the car, both quite excited to play in the ocean. After two months of long skirts and long-sleeved shirts, I must admit the idea of going to a private beach where I wouldn't get hassled for a bikini was rather appealing.

Paradise Beach is in a compound, and we had to pay 10 LE just to enter, and then spent a good 15 minutes looking for parking. This particular beach is affiliated with a hotel, so we asked at the front desk and were told the beach entrance fee was 60 LE each. This is kind of steep - about $10 - but worth it. However, when we got down to the beach, we were told by the entry guards that we had to pay 75 LE! Now, in reality, a difference of 15 LE isn't that significant. However, this is Egypt, which means that there's a good likelihood that, no matter the situation, SOMEONE is trying to rip you off. Mona, convinced that the guards were padding the cover charge, refused, and we walked down the strip to see if there were any other beaches. Unfortunately, the other private beach was full, and the public beaches are INSANE - umbrellas and people so thick it's impossible to see the water, and only frequented by men or by women who actually go into the ocean wearing full sleeves, jeans and a veil (and then they wonder why there are drownings ...).

Finally, we gave up - fate wasn't with us on Friday. On the way out, we asked at the front desk, and were told that the cover was in fact 75 LE (60 is the weekday price), so at least the guys at the beach weren't lying. At that point, though, there was nothing to do but go home.

Mona was especially disappointed, because apparently she loves the ocean, so to cheer her up, we ate some emergency chocolate (we've decided we should always carry chocolate around, "just in case") and then decided it was time to go shopping!

Many stores, many clothes, many shoes. Not so many great stories to tell, because shopping is fun but not especially exciting for others. By the end of the evening, though, I'd managed to pick up a new dress, new pants, a new skirt, and two new pairs of shoes. The dress is awesome, and still kind of okay for Egypt - it goes to my knees, and if I wear a scarf I'll be officially decent. The pants are cool and look like a skirt, but are really long so I need some taller shoes (oh, darn, I'll have to go shopping!), and the skirt is absolutely darling! We went to about 10 different stores, and didn't get home until about 12:30 that night, where we had to prance around in our new shoes and agonize over the shirt Mona didn't buy (don't worry - she went back for it on Sunday).

Finally, we ordered dinner from this fast-food restaurant called Cook Door - I'd told Mona about lobster rolls (mmmmmmmm ...), and so she insisted we order the "sandwich viagra," which has shrimp and crab with tomato sauce and mozzarella cheese. I giggled when she told me the name, and said something like "In America, viagra is an impotence drug," to which she replied, "Yeah, Egypt, too. In fact, Egypt is the biggest consumer of viagra." Apparently, the sandwich is named for seafood's legendary aphrodisiac qualities. Wait a minute - what happened to Egypt's sexual repression??

Anyhow, the sandwich wasn't nearly as good as a lobster roll, but it was still a nice way to end a completely unproductive girly day. We crashed "early" (at like 2:00) with plans to wake up "early" (at like 10:30) the next day and head for Agame.

Alexandria, Part I

Like the use of Roman numerals there? Alexandria is described in my Lonely Planet as the most historical city in Egypt with the least to see. More or less everything from Alexandria's time as part of the Roman Empire has been destroyed, so it isn't really a city to go for sight-seeing. Because of this, Alex is considered a great vacation destination for Egyptians, but is rarely frequented by foreigners. However, Mona has an apartment in Alex, and often spends her weekends there - and since this past weekend was long (Sunday was a public holiday, so we both took Saturday off from work), we decided to get out of Cairo for a few days.

We drove to Alex Thursday after work, about 200 km, and arrived around 7 PM. After a brief rest/refreshment session, we went to Montasa to meet her cousin and his family (all of Mona's cousins but one are much older than her - I think this man is in his late 40's, and has a 15-year old son and a 10-year old daughter). Mona had mentioned that we were coming, and that I hadn't tried mashi yet, so there was something of a feast waiting for us. Mashi is any number of different vegetables stuffed with a rice and meat mixture, most commonly seen in the US as rolled grape vine leaves at Greek restaurants. In addition to those (which were, of course, delicious), we also had stuffed zucchini, eggplants, and peppers, and grilled meat as well. And the family had already eaten, so we had this entire pot of mashi to ourselves - delicious!

After eating, we had some grilled corn bought from a vendor (also good, but the mashi was better), and then explored the area a bit. Montasa itself is a compound (we had to pay 12 LE to get in), with a beach, hotels, and an old palace. Additionally, Montasa has a "country club," with a swimming pool, tennis and basketball courts, and picnic areas. We were in this club, where Mona's cousin's family has a membership. Mohammed, the son, has basketball training every Thursday night, so it's a weekly family outing.

I have to say, the club was great. First of all, it was a legitimate park, with grass and trees and stuff (actually, a lot of Montasa is like that) - a nice change from Cairo, where I've been told there's exactly enough "green stuff" for each citizen to place exactly one foot on it. And Alex, while still a large city (Mona said 3 million in the winter, 5 million in the summer), is also on the sea, and much less polluted than Cairo - I could actually see the stars! Definitely a relaxing place to spend the evening.

After we all finished eating, Mona, Judy (the daughter) and I went to play basketball with Mohammed and some of his friends. As I was standing on the side of the court, waiting to figure out what was happening, a pack of girls (early teens, I think) approached me.

"Do you speak Arabic?" one asked. When I said no, she asked where I was from. "Boston," I said. "It's close to New York." (I've found that's the easiest explanation ... and so much more accurate than, "Idaho - it's close to California," which I've also used.) She says, "Yeah, I know - it's close to Newark, too."

Huh. That was unexpected. It turns out she lived in Newark for a year on exchange, and speaks amazing English. (I was, of course, mingling with the upper class elite here - most of the children attend American or British schools.) Anyhow, she was also in on this basketball plan, and designated me one of the captains. After about 15 minutes of chaos, things settled down and we started to play.

Now, I haven't played basketball since junior high, and I sucked then. These kids, on the other hand, practice all summer long. Additionally, I'm short enough that I didn't even have a height advantage. Long story short, we lost.

Before the game even started, another of the pack had latched on to me (sorry, I don't remember any names ... if it helps, though, she was wearing a hat!), and after we finished playing, she followed us back to Mohammed's parents for a drink of water. And then insisted we go for a walk. And then asked for a picture with me. And THEN asked for my phone number. When I said, "I don't have a mobile - I'm only here for three months," she asked, "You don't have a mobile in America?" When I admitted I do, she insisted on taking my phone number ... I don't know if she actually plans on calling it, although if she does it in the next month, she'll be told the service has been disconnected. Anyway, she finally left, at which point Mohammed told me that no one at the club really likes her, because she's very clingy. Helpful ...

We sat around talking for a bit longer, and at about 1 AM the lights started flickering (in a last-call sort of way), so we packed up our stuff and headed out. On the way, Mona's cousin invited us to lunch on Sunday, promising to cook fish (the fish is very delicious and fresh in Alex), an invitation we eagerly accepted.

We returned to Mona's apartment a bit before two, and sat up talking a bit before retiring for the night. When we'd first arrived, she'd warned me about a new nearby mosque, but I didn't think it was a problem - I've learned to handle the calls to prayer, and generally sleep through them. Boy, was I wrong ... this mosque is a bit too close, with a loudspeaker installed on the corner of Mona's building. When "Allah!" came ringing through the air at 4:30 AM, I was immediatelly awake. Stupid me.

Salsa night REDUX

So, another Wednesday night, another attempt to go salsa dancing. Mona had found out that La Piste, while it does exist, is on the rooftop of the building we kept driving by, and doesn't have any exterior signs - which is why we had no luck the last time around. Prepared with this knowledge, we again got all fancied up and headed back to the club. Since Mohamed had been calling Mona for a week straight, she told him that he could meet us at the club himself - one of his many boasts last week was that he was a stellar salsa dancer.

We made it to La Piste okay, paid our cover, and went into the club. La Piste itself is also a dance studio, and the Wednesday salsa night happens to immediately follow a Wednesday night salsa class ... which means the people there were people who actually knew how to salsa, and who expected to dance with others who also knew how to salsa. This was the first problem ...

The club itself was awesome, though, with a great view of Cairo (or parts of it ... it is a really big city), including an extensive look at one of the "clubs" that dots the city, which happens to be across the street from La Piste. These clubs are essentially country clubs, just not out in the country - a place for Cairo's upper crust to see and be seen. We located the pool, the tennis courts, the basketball courts, and even the shooting range from the rooftop, and determined even from 15 stories above that the place was clearly much too expensive for either of us to join.

Too intimidated to stay by the dance floor, in case someone actually asked either of us to dance (which would have been a tragedy, since the expected skill level was not a requirement either of us would meet), we hung out on the balcony. Finally, Mohamed showed up, after Mona had mentioned to me that she wasn't entirely certain if she'd even recognize him anymore. It turns out he had the same problem; he and his friend stood on the balcony about ten feet away, looking over at us every now and again with an, "Is that them?" expression ... after 15 minutes, he gave in and called Mona's cell.

The four of us sat down, and Mona and I quickly decided Mohamed is a big freaking asshole. His conversations seem to always be combative, and when the conversation turned to America, this quickly proved to be a problem. The stupid thing was, there are SO MANY legitimate things to argue about regarding America, but he didn't pick any of them. Instead, he started spouting off about how Houston (where he claims to have lived for seven years, although Mona doesn't believe him) is a much better city than Boston, even though he's never been to Boston. He said Texas has a great economy, and I said, "You know, Massachusetts isn't really doing that bad either," and suddenly, he was PISSED. (And I swear I said those words, and in a relatively un-bitchy way.)

"So you think that because I lived in the States for only seven years, I don't know anything about America?"

"Not at all. I just think it's strange that you automatically assume you know more than me, when I lived there my whole life."

"Well, I do."

"Whatever makes you happy."

"It doesn't make me happy, it's the truth."

Now I was getting a bit irritated, because this could have been a funny, light-hearted conversation, but HE WASN'T JOKING. There wasn't even a hint of a smile, twinkling eyes, NOTHING to indicate he was anything besides 100% serious. And so ...

"Fine. You're clearly infinitely superior to me in every way."

And he responds - again, with absolutely no indication of humor - "Yes, I am."

About 45 seconds later, he and his friend left. I'm not quite sure how the mood turned so quickly, but I suspect it was somehow my fault. However, Mona doesn't blame me - she thinks he's just one of the many Egyptians who automatically hate Americans because we represent what they can't have. Additionally, he's a guy. Enough said.

So, at a salsa club but unable to dance, and without anyone to dance with - although Mohamed wouldn't have been of much use, since he admitted he can't salsa after all ("The only lie I've told, I swear.") - we decided to give up and go to Cinnabon instead. However, on the way out, we took steps to remedy our deficiency, and starting next Monday, we will be taking twice-weekly salsa lessons at La Piste. So maybe, just maybe, I'll come out of this summer having learned SOMETHING ...

Diwa

Suddenly, Cairo seems much more tolerable.

I found a bookstore.

It was AMAZING. I actually knew of this bookstore, but never went ... but I'm officially out of reading material, so decided today I could put it off no longer. And I went inside, and there were actual BOOKS! In ENGLISH! On SHELVES! It's really the little things that make me happy. :)

Unfortunately, stuff was pretty overpriced - that is, the books were almost at American prices, which means I spent 203 LE on three books. But quite honestly, it was TOTALLY worth it. The store has a bunch of Arabic books translated into English, so I picked up a book by Nagub Mahfouz, who's kind of Egypt's national writer, and well known for his social realism. I wanted to get a copy of The Yacoubian Building, but they only had it in hardcover, and I have a strong bias towards paperbacks.

Also, because I figured I couldn't JUST get Arabic books (the books are to ESCAPE Cairo), I picked up something by Jose Saramago, an AMAZING writer who wrote Blindness, a great book that I loaned out and haven't gotten back yet (ahem ...). He's put out a new book, Seeing, that I want to read badly enough that I'd have gotten it in hardcover, but I think it's too new for Egypt, so I got something called The Cave, which also looks pretty interesting.

And, finally, I got a book called Someone Like You, by - brace yourselves - Roald Dahl! Be honest - did you know that he wrote adult fiction? Because I had NO IDEA! But it's a collection of short stories described as "vendettas and desperate quests, bitter memories and sordid fantasies thwarted," so I'm thinking it's definitely not a sequel to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Okay, I think I'm going to go read something - reading over this, I can tell how excited I am by the excessive use of capital letters. No time to waste!

Yacoubian Building - Update

Okay, I saw the movie last night with subtitles, so that I have a much better idea of what happened. I still like it, and it's still very much worth seeing! Mona's cousin insisted that Mona make sure I understand that "Egypt is nothing like this," but Mona says Egypt is actually EXACTLY like this ... there's an especially resonant scene where the once-great playboy pasha is ranting about how Egypt used to be modern and liberal and hopping - fashions emerged in Cairo before Paris - and from stories that Mona has heard from her family, that is exactly how things used to be. And the prison scene is pretty much exactly what I read about at work, so that's certainly (and unfortunately) accurate.

Oh, and Parliament hasn't succeeded yet in cutting out the homosexual storyline, but Cairo audiences are still laughing at it, so I doubt it will have any great corrupting influence ...

Salsa night!

So last night, to fill the void that Italy's penalty-kick win left in our lives, Mona and I decided to go salsa dancing. We got all gussied up, wearing the most revealing clothing we have here (parental notice: the clothing was very appropriate by any normal standards, I promise), and hopped in the car to find La Pista, a salsa bar that Mona's friend Claudia recommended.

Traffic was a bitch, which is often the case, but eventually we made it to the correct street - and couldn't find the club! We drove up and down five or six times, and were definitely in the right place - we had the street name, even the building number (tentatively - it had been my responsibility to remember, but I went a bit dyslexic and couldn't decide between 121 and 112), and the indisputable landmark of the Shooting Club ... but couldn't find it! We even asked a few of the trendier-looking people walking down the street, in the hopes that they a) had heard of it, or b) were on their way there, but no one had any clue! (Okay, that's not true - La Pista also has a club in Alexandria, which just opened, and everyone seemed to think we were just in the wrong city.)

But no big deal, right? We'll just call someone! Not Claudia, because Mona doesn't have her number - it's more of a friend-of-a-friend deal - but Dominic, their mutual friend and someone who sometimes goes dancing with Claudia. Unfortunately, just as Mona tried to make the call, her phone credit ran out! (Everything is pre-paid here - "bill me later" isn't really an option.) Fortunately, little shops along the side of the road often have cell phones for use, so we found a cigarette stand and Mona tried to call from there. I stayed in the car - we were a bit risque for Egypt, with skirts slit past the knee (gasp!), and there were a few men and a couple boys loitering around. However, I did get to watch an incredibly funny reaction to Mona's dress. The children were laughing and pointing, and when she'd turn, they'd move too, to improve the view, if you will. And it was a bit windy, so there was something of a view. Additionally, the adults were acting like gaping idiots too, standing and staring and joking with the 8-year-olds (and like the 8-year-olds, come to think of it). Poor Mona pretended oblivion, but when she got back in the car, she burst out laughing. "I can't believe them! Were you watching? Any more wind, and you would have seen five men simultaneously orgasm!"

It's funny because it's true.

Anyhow, her phone calls were unfruitful, so we decided to take one last, very slow, sweep of the street. We were again unsuccessful (although a girl directed us to a side street that has a lot of clubs, thinking it might be there), and were stopped on the side of the road, debating what to do next, when a silver BMW with three twenty-something guys pulled up next to us. The driver chatted up Mona for about five minutes, and occasionally slipped into English (enough so that I recognized his claim that he was from Houston, at which point Mona leaned over to make sure that Houston in fact is a real place - Egyptian guys are notorious liars), finally suggesting that we all find somewhere to pull over to talk more. This was a good idea, since Mona was already double-parked, and the BMW was just stopped in traffic ... except neither Mona nor I had any desire to continue talking. So she said okay, and we drove off - of course, the BMW followed.

Through some weird galactic alignment, the BMW managed to park somewhere before we got there, and the driver (Mohamed) and his friend got out and came over to chat. They switched to English, and he seemed nice enough, but Mona was definitely not interested, and was kind of a bitch. I think this is because she's dealt with too many Egyptian men - she kept questioning his story, and tried to get him to give up by telling him that she's older than him (always a turn-off, apparently) and by flat-out asking him, "If I give you my number, what is the point? Do you want to marry me? Do you want to have sex with me?" Finally, he caved without her number, although she had his, and we drove away ... at which point, she admitted that he was cute and nice and she should have given him her number! So we turned around to go back to where we'd been, but didn't see him - until we drove by too far to stop, at which point of course we noticed his car. So we made yet another sweep, but this time he really was gone.

Salsa was pretty much a dead issue at this point, so I decided to goad her on - "You should call him! Now!" The problem, of course, was her dead phone. So we headed back towards our side of town, with a vague and unformulated plan that involved Mona calling Mohamed and admitting we didn't find La Pista (his parting comment to me had been something to the effect of, "Enjoy Egypt, but don't trust this girl - she obviously doesn't know Cairo very well, because there is no La Pista here."). Of course, on the way we were bombarded with other men in other cars, pulling alongside and trying to talk with us. I thought it had been a quirky thing with the first guy, but quickly decided that maybe this is what men do all evening in Cairo ...

We decided to end our night at Cinnabon - Mona's addicted, but I'd never been - and got followed halfway there by yet another persistant man. He kept pulling up and asking, "Why won't you just talk to me?" and Mona finally yelled back, "I'm trying to find a parking space so we can go to Cinnabon!" To which he responded, "Oh, I'm going to Cinnabon too!"

Of course.

But whatever ... we (double-)parked and went inside, only to find that the chocobuns, which are apparently the best, were out for the next few minutes. Tragedy! Fortunately, we found out where Mona could get a new phone card, so set off to do that. Walking down the street was quite the adventure - more catcalls and comments than I'm used to, because of the clothes - but fortunately the shop was close. Once we got back to Cinnabon, Mona sat down and called Mohamed, admitting that we couldn't find La Pista and so were indulging our sweet teeth instead.*

He seemed excited to hear from her, but said he didn't ever go out without "smoking something first," and would meet us at Cinnabon later. Meanwhile, the chocobuns came out of the oven, and the silly Cinnabon man sold them all without saving us one! Since we had to wait for Mohamed anyway, though, it wasn't a huge deal - he promised that the next tray would be out in 4 minutes, and we would be his first customers. While waiting, the second guy (who coincidentally happened to be going to Cinnabon too) came in with a friend ... and ordered a cinnamon roll and took a seat on the other side of the restaurant! Umm ... huh? Apparently, he was too shy to talk to us under fluorescent bulbs.

Finally, we got our chocobun (worth the wait, by the way). The guy and his friend finished eating and left - only to go sit on Mona's car and wait for us. Meanwhile, Mohamed never showed up. We resolved to leave when we were finished, regardless - Mona had kind of lost interest with the revelation of his habit - and agreed before exiting that we were going home, not "out" to any clubs or bars these guys might suggest.

We stuck to the plan, but had to stand around and talk for ten minutes first. The guy had assigned his friend to distract me, so that he could chat up Mona, and I wound up explaining to this guy that America in fact is not entirely like the movies. (It was a bit strange, and he was totally serious. "You mean America isn't like the movies?" "Well, it depends which movie." (That was blatantly sarcastic, by the way.) "Teen movies, light comedy?" "Uh, no." "Action movies?" "I wish! No, I think you'd find that America isn't nearly so exciting, and the people aren't nearly so attractive.") I guess Mona's guy lost interest when she told him she was older than him (hahaha), but Ahmar, the guy I was talking to, asked for my number. Fortunately, I had the perfectly legitimate "I don't have a phone!" response. So he took Mona's number, which he promised he'd use to reach me - and Mona has promised to not be too concerned about passing along any messages.

In the end, we got home at like 12:30 from a totally salsa-free night. It was a bit disappointing (and so weird that we couldn't find this club, because Claudia goes out dancing all the time, so we know she wasn't mistaken), but in the end, the night out was interesting all the same. Next time, though, I think we'll double-check our directions.

*Full disclosure - I totally just forgot what the plural of "tooth" was, and actually had to check dictionary.com, because neither "tooths" nor "toothes" looked quite right ...

Ghada's family

So I've been pretty responsible about sampling Egyptian culinary specialties (as evidenced by my ever-snugger clothes), but as of last weekend I hadn't yet tried fatta, a dish mentioned in my guide books as traditionally Egyptian. I mentioned it weeks ago, and Atef and I planned to meet for dinner (with his wife and daughter) at a restaurant where I could try it, but he cancelled at the last minute. So finally, my friend Ghada invited me to her home, promising me that her mother would prepare for us a huge dish of fatta.

So last night, after work, I took a microbus with Ghada and her sister Ensar (maybe ... I don't really know how to say it, much less spell it) to their home in Imbaba, a poor district north of Mohandisseen. We were crammed into the microbus (which seemed less comfortable than the ones to October city I'm used to, although I might have been imagining things), and then walked about ten minutes through Imbaba alleyways to a dead end and Ghada's apartment building. The "courtyard" was basically dust and garbage, and the apartment was a walk-up - fortunately, they live on the first (per the UK system) floor.

We entered the apartment and took a seat on the couch, in front of the fan - there was no AC, but also no natural light, so the apartment was a pretty comfortable temperature. It's a relatively small place, but not too tiny - the kitchen is small, because Egyptian kitchens tend to be, but the living room is quite large. Ghada shares the apartment with Ensar and their parents, and whichever family members happen to be staying the night, and between them all have two bedrooms. It was, in striking contrast to the outside (but not surprisingly), completely immaculate.

Ghada told me, "Sit and catch your breath for a few minutes, and then we will have fatta." I was expecting a late dinner, but I guess instead we were having a very late lunch. First, though, I was given a pair of pajamas to change into - it was very important that I was incredibly comfortable. I was actually quite comfortable in my own clothes, but it was such a suprising offer I couldn't figure out how to turn it down. So I took the clothes (which were actually sweats, and much hotter than what I was wearing) and was shown the bathroom, asked if I wanted to shower (I declined), and given a minute to change.

Once I was (un)dressed, we went back to the living room, where we ate family style - our food was served on a big metal tray in the middle of the floor, and us three girls sat around cross-legged and ate. We had soup (which was, I think, just broth), meat, and fatta. Honestly, I'm not quite sure how I got so worked up about the fatta, because even the description in the guidebook doesn't sound that great - it's a bowl of rice and bread, covered with tomato sauce - but it was kind of a dissapointment. Not bad, of course, but not great either. And my already hearty appetite was being criticized the whole time we ate - Ghada's mother sat and watched, and every few minutes would ask Ghada if I was alright, if I needed anything, if I didn't like the food. And so then Ghada would force me to eat more, "for my mother's sake." Even my "I don't eat meat" claim didn't exempt me from chowing down a big chunk of beef ... but I did, for the sake of being a good guest (you should be very proud of me, Mom!).

After dinner was done, we played Uno. I don't know why, but they all seemed VERY excited about this game. The first round was Ghada, two of her nephews, and myself, and later her brother (the kids' father) joined us at well. It was quite a night! I didn't expect to be spending my time in such a way, but hanging out with kids is always fun. And Mohamed, the older (maybe 11 or 12) actually spoke decent English, for a 12-year old Egyptian boy ... we played the whole game in English, and he knew all the colors and numbers (I kind of wish we'd played in Arabic, so that *I* could have learned them!).

The big hit of the evening was my ability to shuffle cards. After each game, they sort them into piles, randomly, to mix them back up ... when I shuffled instead, Ghada's father was so excited he had me do it again. And then, of course, Mohamed had to learn - unfortunately, the Uno cards took a bit of a beating, but he improved by the end of the night.

Later (while we were still playing Uno, of course - we played until I left), Ghada's cousins Akhmed and someone else (the names aren't my strong point) showed up, and joined the game. Ghada's fiancee Wael was also there, although he left kind of early with a headache. Meanwhile, after dinner was tea, and after tea was fruit - a tray of apples and grapes were brought out to eat. I think Ghada told her mother that I like grapes (which I do), because every three seconds someone told me "Eat grapes! Eat grapes!" I think I wound up eating a pound of them myself by the end of the night - and Akhmed was joking that I would have to take the rest and eat them in the taxi.

All in all, it was a great night - I mean, all I did was sit around with kids and play card games, but I was very clearly welcomed as one of the family. When I said I had to leave because I was exhausted, Ghada offered I just spend the night there. When it was time to leave, the men all rushed out to find me a taxi - and as it drove away, Ghada took the number just in case there was any trouble, and was later lectured by her parents for not giving me their home number with instructions to call when I got home. (Honestly, all this together with the fact that Akhmed told the cab driver, "Midan Libnan, Insha'allah," when I got in, makes me suspect it was something of a seedy neighborhood.)

Unfortunately, Ghada's parents speak no English, so I didn't get to talk to them. However, I know her mother is an incredibly hospitable woman (from my grape-bloated belly, in addition to the other signs), and her father seems like a quiet, gentle man. Her brother, though, was great - you can always tell a guy is cool when he spends hours playing cards with children. :) And her cousins actually came over specifically because they wanted to meet me, which is flattering (and a bit intimidating - I hope I lived up to the hype!).

I think this means that Egyptian hospitality is alive and well, at least in the more traditional (read: poor) segments of society.

Oh, and fatta - drastically overrated.

Egypt debates controversial film

A controversial film is to be reviewed by the Egyptian parliament after 112 MPs demanded censorship of homosexual scenes, an independent MP has claimed.

They have criticised The Yacoubian Building, saying it defames Egypt by portraying homosexuality, terrorism and corruption, said the Associated Press.

The film, based on Alaa Al-Aswani's novel, opened in Egypt two weeks ago.

MP Mustafa Bakri, who led a campaign against the film, said it was "spreading obscenity and debauchery".

He added: "As a citizen I felt hurt when I watched it.

"I respect freedom of expression and creativity, but this is neither."

'Real' issues

Mr Bakri, who is also editor of the pan-Arab independent weekly newspaper El-Osboa, said MPs had not called for a complete ban on the film, but wanted scenes they considered to be "profane" cut.

The film depicts the interlinked lives of the residents of a Cairo apartment block.

Writer Al-Aswani said he regretted the controversy.

"It's a pity. How can a movie defame a great country like Egypt?

"Why aren't Italy, France or the US defamed by movies dealing with homosexuality?

"Novels and movies are not made to promote tourism, but to deal with real issues of life," he added.

World Cup 2006

Somewhere along the way, I've become a soccer fan. I'm not sure how, and I'm not sure why, but I've been rabidly devouring the games and cheering on Germany for the last couple weeks. (And was rather devistated by their Tuesday loss, by the way, although it was clear from the beginning that Italy was the better team.) My Germany allegiance comes from the fact that my roommates are German, combined with the fact that I've been watching the games at the Goethe Institute, a cultural center affiliated with the German embassy. I think I might go for Italy next time, though ... the guys are MUCH more attractive.

Anyhow, Egyptians are HUGE fans of the sport, so the enthusiasm seems to be a bit contagious. There are a bunch of local football clubs around here, and I think a team from Cairo won the Africa Cup (although I get the impression there isn't a whole lot of competition.) However, there was some weirdness with satellite TV, so even though we have like a dozen satellites, none of them received the games up until the semi-finals. Thus, sports enthusiasts were required to go to ahwas (cafes) or other places to get their fix. We chose the Goethe Institute, in large part because Mona's friend Corrina works at the German embassy and could get us tickets to all the games. Even though it's a German center, and probably all the Germans in Cairo have been coming to the games, the place is always packed mainly with Egyptians. The institute has a huge garden, with pillows and rugs and tables all over the place, and the game shows on two screens - a huge screen with an Arabic commentator, and then a smaller one off of a German satellite. (For the Germany-Poland game, the German satellite was about 5 seconds ahead of the Arabic one, so we'd cheer or boo, and then in a few seconds, the other side of the garden would echo.)

The institute did a really good job of creating a sports-event atmosphere, too, especially with the overpriced concessions (of course, 15 LE for a beer may be absurd when I could go to Drinkie's and get one for 4 LE, but it's still only about $2.50). Plus, since it's a GERMAN center and all, they have four different kinds of sausages! (Craziness, I know ... you'll just have to trust me on this one.) It's an excellent way to spend an evening, and being outside at night is almost tolerable (just almost, though - still get sweaty and sticky at midnight around here) ... I don't know what I'll do after the game on Sunday! I guess I'll just have to find something else to be obsessive about!

Anyhow, that's how I've been spending many of my evenings lately - trying to decipher the rules of this enigmatic game of soccer. If anyone can tell me what the deal with the extra time is, I'd really appreciate it! We're going to try to get tickets for the Saturday third/fourth place game, to root for Germany one last time, and there'll be a huge blow-out on Sunday for the final (and the overpriced food and drinks will actually be free - if HLS taught me anything last year, it was to never turn down a free meal ... unless it's pizza)! Anyone have a guess on the Italy-France match-up? I haven't gotten so obsessive as to build actual loyalties, so as long as it's a good game, I'll be happy.

One other thing - I've learned that there are really only five words needed to fit in at a soccer match in Egypt:
Yalla! (Go!)
La'! (No!)
Ey?! (What?!)
Magnoon! (Crazy!)
El Hamdullaleh! (Thank God!)
Blurt these out at the appropriate intervals, and you'll be an instant hit!

The Yacoubian Building

So, about 10 years ago, an Egyptian author wrote a book about the lives of various people who live in the Yacoubian building, an actual building on Talaat Harb that I walk by almost every day. The book was very popular, and translated into 10 different languages (I think), and has now been made into a movie.

I saw the movie last night, which was quite an experience, since it was in Arabic and all ... but Ghada was good about introducing new characters, and the story was fairly clear. At any rate, I intend to buy the book to fill in the gaps.

The moral of this post: READ THE BOOK! And if the movie comes out in the states (which it should - it did really well at both Tribeca and Cannes, so should at least play at some indie theatres), SEE THE MOVIE! If I'm around, see it with me and I can tell you all the places I've been. It was a GREAT story about the sort of moral decline some people perceive in Egyptian society.

And it was a trip to watch it with a bunch of Egyptians, too. Most notable was the story line about the homosexual newspaper editor. Homosexuality is a clearly taboo subject in Egypt - Ghada was surprised they showed it - and so the audience was uncomfortable and derisive about the whole thing. Emotional moments were laughed at, because clearly there's no real emotion in a gay relationship. And during the intermission, Ghada and Fatma, very concerned, asked me if I was okay with the whole thing. When I said that I was fine, and I actually have gay friends, they seemed both shocked and a little disturbed.

The weird thing about homosexuality in Egypt, though, is that it's a bit more narrowly defined than we're used to. Yes, it's VERY bad to be gay and a Muslim, but at the same time, both men aren't considered gay - only the "bottom." The label is assigned based purely on physical actions, not thought or emotion. Additionally, there's a lot of physical contact between male friends - they kiss and hold hands as women commonly do. So really, men who are considered "openly gay" in America could walk down the street holding hands and have no problem here, where they'd probably get beat or harrassed somewhere like Alabama - but at the same time, there is NO cultural acceptance for what is considered a gravely sinful deviance.

Anyhow, the movie was a really great portrayal of some of the less savory aspects of Egyptian culture - Islamic radicals, homosexuals, skeezy politicians, etc - and I VERY highly recommend it to anyone and everyone who has the opportunity to see it.

Ahlan wa Sahlan

Otherwise known as the International Oriental Dance Festival, to which people come from around the world to shake their bare bellies in front of an audience of hundreds of people. Now, I heard about this from my Lonely Planet guide, and initially wanted to participate - they accept people of any skill-level and give all-day classes for a week. However, the $100 price tag was a bit daunting, as was the idea of asking my conservative employer for a week off so that I could learn to belly dance, so I scrapped the idea.

But Mona came home Sunday night and told me that the festival was having a free display - from what I remember, July 2 was the last day, so this was the big party/competition after a week of classes - so we hopped in her car and drove out to the Mena House Oberoi Hotel.

First of all, HOLY HELL! This was the most decandent, gorgeous hotel I've ever been in. It's actually in my "1,000 places to see before you die" book (or whatever it's called), as worth a visit for tea if you can't afford to stay there. Which I can't. The garden has a nice pyramid view (according to the pictures - it was much too dark/hazy to tell last night), but the interior of the place was even more amazing. The walls and ceiling of the passageways were pure marble, and the ballroom where the performance was had these absolutely huge, absolutely amazing crystal chandeliers. The walls were done in this Arabesque style, gold and dark red, and the entire place was just magical. I definitely think the dancers looked better thanks to their surroundings.

Right, the dancers. So, according to Mona (who's half Egyptian) and our friend Natalie (who's lived here for years), there were some dancers who were good and some who were very very bad. They were from all over the world, and some had been dancing for years, others for a week. After awhile, I started to recognize the signs of a good dancer - most obvious is clearly the hip movement, and the costumes actually have beads or bells attached at the hip so that the audience can tell better how fast/well the hips are actually moving. However, belly dancing is also about showmanship - the dancers who just focused on technique weren't nearly as interesting. One of my favorites was actually a girl from America, who had a great and dramatic routine and a decent amount of skill as well. But I have to say that, for the most part, I didn't really enjoy the experience as much as I should have. I think that belly dancing is best witnessed in a small club, with the lights low and the audience excited - otherwise, it becomes too much of a spectacle.

In fact, my first or second week here, I did go see a different belly dancing show. From what I've heard, belly dancing has become somewhat scandalous in the eyes of the religious right, so all of the great dancers perform in 5-star hotels with lots of security. That means that, to see one of them perform, I have to drop a $15 or $20 cover fee, and then meet a ridiculous drink minimum. Quite frankly, that isn't going to happen. So we went to the other end of the spectrum - a scummy, back-alley joint called The Palmyra. These places are fun not because the performers have good dance skills, but because the audience is comprised mainly of local Egyptian guys who drink too much and act like crazy men.

When we arrived, there was a girl about my age on stage. She had her belly bared, and was shaking it around - I think that's as close to belly dancing as she gets. But this wasn't a hands-off performance like last night. Nope, the girl would dance with men in the audience, and then hound them until they gave her money. And she had FRIENDS - two other women, who were just dressed in jeans and shirts, but would also dance with men in the audience, and then ask for money. I have no idea how these others were affiliated with the show, but they seemed to be raking in the cash.

We started off the evening on the wrong foot, when Nate threw 50 piastres on the stage to "thank" the performer for shaking her breasts. She thought he intended her to dance with him for that amount, and drama ensued. Once we got over that, though, one of the other girls targeted in on our table - we were, after all, foreign, and there were four guys to choose from. Tak danced with her, and then refused to pay her more than 2 LE (the going rate seems to have been 5 LE), so she kept coming up to him and hitting him over the head. We convinced Ian to dance with her, but right when he stood up, the song ended, and she stopped - but still wanted her 5 LE. After a few more songs, I convinced him to give it to her - I just felt so bad for a girl my age dancing with random skeezy guys for less than $1 - which earned me a new friend. For the rest of the evening, whenever she would steal a handful of nuts or a cigarette from an admiring man at another table, she'd come over and split it with me! (I turned down the cigarettes, but the nuts were great.)

As far as the actual performance goes, it was kind of a joke, but the men seemed to eat it up. There was a guy in his forties (I think) who kept getting up on stage and dancing around, throwing 25 and 50 piastre notes up in the air ... he kind of looked like a tent revival holy roller or something, he was so into himself. I think he very rarely even noticed the girl! And another man was there with his three year old son! (Which I think is the Egyptian equivalent of taking your kid to a strip joint, because that's the kind of atmosphere this place had.) The poor kid got up on stage and danced around, which was a great distraction for the dancer when she tried to avoid men, or to hide the fact that no men were dancing with her ...

Despite the lack of talent, though, I definitely think this was the better belly dancing experience. The audience was having a great time, and that's such a huge part of any performance. Of course, having the trained belly dancers in the skeezy club would probably be the best combination.

Whoops ...

So, I live in an area called Midan Libnan, in Giza ... in the afternoon, to get home, I get on a microbus going to October City, which is about 30km outside of Cairo, because the bus drives directly through the midan (square). Anyhow, my boss lives in October City, so if we're leaving at the same time, he offers to give me a ride home - may as well, since he also drives right through here.

So yesterday, he was driving home a few of us, and announced that today was his birthday. He asked what he should to do celebrate, and Osman (who was translating) informed me that he doesn't celebrate his birthday, so he can't give advice - but what do I do for mine? I somewhat sheepishly (but amusedly) said, "Well, my experience probably won't help either, because my birthday celebrations generally involve alcohol." The boss laughed, although Osman was quite shocked (this might have killed the Osman issue, though - I don't think he could possibly be interested in someone as immoral as I am), and we moved on.

Anyhow, today I again got a ride home, and the boss who asked what my plans were tonight (I really need to learn to catch this warning sign). I said "I don't know," and he said, "I would like to invite you out for a drink tonight."

Hmm. Now, this is the guy who told me that he's Muslim, and so doesn't drink, but when he does drink, he gets hammered. My theory is that he just wanted someone to drink with, and clearly can't ask any of his friends, as they're all Muslim. Odds are, nothing else was going on. And yet ... definitely inappropriate. I asked him, "Well, will your family be there? Your wife?" and he explained, "No, she and my son and daughters are at the club with my brother."

And then didn't bring it up again. El Hamdullaleh! (THANK GOD). My problem was, I could think of a billion explanations - including the totally honest "I just don't think it's appropriate to socialize with the boss unless everyone's there, so there's no worry about favoritism" - but he speaks such poor English, he wouldn't understand anything that complicated! So I resolved to just say, "I can't," and follow it up with, "Besides, it's your birthday - you should be with family." Fortunately, I didn't have to whip the excuse out ... but how weird!!!! Maybe I should have accepted - drinking with a Muslim would be an interesting experience - but it felt like a bad idea on about seven different levels.

Freaking Egyptians!!!!

Adaptation

So, I've been in Cairo for over five weeks now, and while I certainly don't feel "at home," it's interesting to realize how much I have adapted to my crazy-different surroundings. I remember my first week, staying in the hostel, when I would sit around with friends and talk about how insane everything here is, and how I would be miserable and harrassed for the next three months ... but I guess people can get used to anything, eh?

Most notably, I'm not hassled by touts like I used to be. Now, part of it is that I'm not frequenting tourist sites - clearly, there will be more people to contend with outside the Egyptian Museum than in my residential neighborhood - but I think it's more than that. I've developed the all-important skill of IGNORING EVERYONE.

I was raised to be polite, and although I sometimes slip up, as a general rule, I'm a huge fan of common courtesy. And so, when people talk to me, it's pretty natural for me to answer. This, of course, is how the many harrassing sales-people get their openings. They say "Hello" or "Welcome to Egypt" or whatever, and as soon as the foreigner responds in kind, the game begins. So what I needed to do was JUST NOT ANSWER.

It's harder than it sounds. If someone is clearly speaking to ME (and if they're speaking in English, it's fair to assume they're speaking to me), it's automatic for me to respond with the standard niceties. But this impulse always lead me to trouble here, and so I needed to quash it.

As evidence of my success, consider this: one morning, walking from my minibus to the office, a young man started walking beside me. "Hello," he said. "Where you from?" I didn't answer, and he just kept up - "What's your name?" "Where you going?" and so on. It was HARD to say nothing, and I actually tried to rack my brain for the right thing to say to get him to go away without thinking I'm a royal bitch (I was considering responding in a language he wouldn't know), but in the end I didn't speak up at all. And, after a hundred yards or so, he gave up and went away! I have to admit, I felt slightly triumphant about the whole thing. We discussed in my criminal law class that almost any criminal suspect, subjected to constant questioning and interrogation, will finally speak, even when they know they aren't required to do so. Granted, the interrogations at issue lasted for hours or days, not 90 seconds, and were conducted with the force of the entire legal system, not by a random guy walking down the street ... but still, I was proud of my ability to withstand the pressure, slight as it may have been! (And really, subjected to this stuff day in and day out, it gets pretty wearing - the pressure is a bit more significant than it may seem.)

However, I haven't completely persuaded my brain to shut off, like I have my mouth. I feel pretty good about ignoring people who seem to be trying to sell me something, but it's harder to ignore people on the street who are just being very friendly (but when I strike up conversations, they generally end in either "Where do you live?" or "Do you know of any jobs in America for me?"). And it's INCREDIBLY hard to ignore the beggars. Cairo doesn't have too many - I think San Fran easily beats it for the number of homeless people - but there are definitely a lot of very poor people here, who have learned that light-skinned foreigners are easy targets. Thus, I tend to get targeted by children, especially (or their parents, who point me out and send them after me), who tug on my sleeves and point to their mouths, or old women with no teeth who cross the street when they see me.

Here's my problem: Egypt has no social security or welfare system, which means that these beggars are very likely begging because they have no other option. Especially since most beggars are female, which means there probably aren't low-skill jobs available for them - road cleaners and the like are all men. And from what I understand, Islam frowns on begging - I'm not entirely certain why, but I suspect it has something to do with the "God will provide you with whatever you need" theory of religion. This means that the locals probably aren't helping much, so me and my fellow foreigners are close to a last resort for these women and children. But I object to handouts in general - the whole "give a man a fish" theory - and do not think handing over a pound or two will really do more than temporarily alleviate suffering. (Although I often think that temporary alleviation is pretty valuable in itself ...) To reconcile myself with the situation, I've resolved to research and donate to a good, worthwhile Egyptian organization ... but it doesn't make it easier to walk away from the three-year olds with the huge eyes and dirty clothes.

Which brings me back to the point - I've learned to ignore people, shut them out. While it's absolutely necessary to do that here - even my coworkers insist I don't talk to people on the street, because they will try to take advantage of me - I honestly don't think it's a great trait to have. Once I get back to the states, I'll have to relearn friendliness - it'll be strange to be somewhere where smiling at a stranger on the street isn't taboo. It's good that I've learned to live here, but if I'm rude to any of you once I get back, I'm sorry - it's just that I've adapted too well.

Censorship - a national problem

This is a fascinating example of Mubarak trying to get some good press for his oppressive regime ... but he never addresses why the girl's teachers thought they needed to fail her in the first place.

Mubarak 'solves girl's exam problem'
By Magdi Abdelhadi Arab affairs analyst, BBC News

President Mubarak is reported to have intervened personally in the case of an Egyptian student who failed her secondary school exams after criticising the United States and her own government in an essay.

Reports said President Mubarak had ordered her papers to be re-marked, and the student subsequently passed.

The story of the young student, Alaa Farag Megahed, has been widely reported in the Arab media and was even debated in the Egyptian parliament.

The 15-year-old girl was summoned and questioned by the authorities over whether she was a member of a secret organisation after it emerged that in her exam essay she accused Washington of backing corrupt dictators at the expense of the needs of their people.

As a result, she failed the test.

'Personal gesture'

But now the state-owned daily, al-Ahram wants to reassure its readers that Egypt, despite all appearances, is a democracy.

Under the headline "A personal gesture from Mubarak", the newspaper reported that the president himself had spoken to the young student on the phone and reassured her that she was free to say what she liked.

But the newspaper did not report what the student had written in her essay.

Instead, it quoted the young girl saying how grateful she was to Mr Mubarak and that she had asked him to visit her town in the Nile Delta.

The newspaper report ends with the unattributed phrase "Long Live Mubarak".

The news of Mr Mubarak's intervention comes only days after a prominent newspaper editor, along with one of his reporters, were sentenced to one year in jail for insulting the president.

The paper had reported the efforts of an Egyptian man to sue Mr Mubarak and his family for allegedly squandering foreign aid and turning the republic into a monarchy - a reference to growing suspicion that the president's youngest son, Gamal, is being groomed to succeed the 78-year old president.