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 ...
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 ...
posted by Teale at 10:15 AM
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