Cairo to Taba to Eilat

We woke up bright and early on Tuesday morning to catch our 6:00 AM bus to Taba. Andrew updated his Twitter status to complain about how early we had to get up. Not long after, several of his Egyptian friends responded saying that the night was still young—they were still up celebrating Ramadan, right until the first call of the prayer of the day, which happens to be at 4:15 AM.

Our bus left right on time and, gratefully, was rather empty so we were able to spread out a little bit. Rachel sat beside me for a while and I tried to get her to go to sleep, but I failed. She decided to go up and sit with Andrew and was asleep in his lap within five minutes. She was Daddy’s Girl for the rest of the day, which was nice because it meant that I got some much needed sleep.

The moral of this story is:

a) I’m way too exciting.
b) Andrew’s amazing.
c) All of the above.

The bus ride is about six hours long and we had one actual pit-stop. The bathrooms were too disgusting for Rachel’s taste and so she refused to go, which meant that she had to hold it until we got to Taba. She did it, but I’m pretty sure she was in agony.

We stopped several other times along the way, of course, at checkpoints. I’m pretty sure the police out in the middle of the desert are bored out of their minds and like to pull buses over just to have something to do every once in a while.

They asked for our passports once or twice and questioned us about our nationality and why we were in Egypt and where we were going. Our answers were always the same: American, study, Taba.

It isn’t wise to admit to be traveling to Israel, even though Israel and Egypt are technically at peace they seem to officially unofficially not be. They guard their deserts quite seriously on either side of the border and there is not a whole lot out there to guard. Trust me.

Saying you’re going to Taba is code for saying that you’re going to Israel and everyone knows it, but since you didn’t say it out loud it’s like it isn’t really happening. Or something.

The only other foreigner on our bus was reading a Jerusalem guidebook the whole bus ride. He also answered that he was going to Taba. Clearly he wasn’t.

We got dropped off at Taba, though, since that was the end-destination printed on our bus tickets, and walked from the bus station to the border carrying all our luggage. This wouldn’t have been too bad except that children complicate things. There was once a time when Andrew and I could pack for a ten day trip in one carry-on size suitcase. Now? It would be impossible. What with the books and coloring supplies and favorite blankets and the whole kitchen sink that we have to pack to satiate Rachel’s needs, it was the longest 600 meters of my life.

And once we got to the border, things were…complicated. I’ll let Andrew write about that since he did most of the talking. I mostly tugged Rachel around, looking for places to sit down. I tried to be helpful, but all I really did was sit down, fill out forms, and watch the luggage/Rachel while Andrew shepherded Patrick and Joseph around trying to get them a multiple entry extension on their visas.

That took a while. And then we had to avoid getting exit stamps in our passports.

I don’t even know how long we took just leaving Egypt; we still had to get into Israel, which was tricky. Things would have worked out relatively smoothly, I think, except that Andrew packed a Qur’an in his backpack.

We ended up getting detained while Andrew was cross-examined by a curt and unfriendly female guard. Most of the guards are female. Not all of them are curt and unfriendly. I think he’s planning on expounding upon the details of his interrogation. It was pretty awful, and all over a book. I hate to imagine what happens to anyone caught with anything that’s actually illegal…

At least we made it through alright in the end.

And the moral of this story is:

a) Don’t try to take a Qur’an across the Israeli border.
b) Don’t try to take a Qur’an across the Israeli border.
c) Don’t try to take a Qur’an across the Israeli border.

The passport-stamper-lady accidentally stamped Rachel’s passport, but it was completely accidental and she was very apologetic about it. So far mine and Andrew’s passports have no evidence of our trip, and we hope to keep it that way. Who knows where we’ll end up studying down the road; I’d much prefer to not shell out money for a new passport in case we end up needing to go to Syria or something.

Our first impressions of Israel were not very positive in light of our border experience. There were some things we noticed, and enjoyed, right away—like the drinking fountain just after passport control, and sidewalks, and garbage cans, and traffic laws, and a few things like that. Mostly, though, we were all pretty grumpy and noticed negative things—like how clothes seemed to be optional, and the electrical sockets were funny, and how Israel has an odd fascination with barbed wire, and how taxi drivers are prone to rip you off.

We got to our hostel, walked into our room, dropped our luggage to the floor, and collapsed on the spot. Andrew flicked on the television and found a children’s station (Rachel seemed to be the only one with any energy; isn’t that always how it goes?) that was playing Dora the Explorer. She was immediately captivated, as were we all.

It’s amazing what some good ol’ television will do to a child. Rachel was bouncing around, fiddling with this and that, showing us how to wear a hijab, and being over-hyper. Dora came on and she stopped jumping around, which was wonderful.

This Dora show was in Hebrew and English; we suddenly felt very sympathetic for Spanish viewers of the English-Spanish Dora shows. Wow. The English they were teaching was lame-o and when Dora spoke English she spoke with an absurdly foreign accent.

We sat there mesmerized until the show ended and Andrew thought to turn off the TV.

“We’re going to the beach!” he announced.

So off we trudged, out of our hotel room, past the bomb shelter, down several sets of stairs, and to the beach.

Eilat is really quite small so it was basically across the street. We played there for a while, but mostly we were too worn out to really enjoy ourselves. I got all the way in, even though the water was much colder than I would have preferred. Andrew and Rachel played around for a while until Rachel decided she wanted me. And then Rachel and I played around in the water or a while. Patrick, on the other hand, plopped down in a beach chair and let it come to him.

Lucky for him the tide was coming in, otherwise he might never have touched the Red Sea.

The beach wasn’t great, but it was free (unlike Aqaba’s beaches) and provided chairs and umbrellas so I guess we can’t complain too much. You’d think with the beach being free and all that people could afford to wear clothes, but they can’t. I saw more skin in the hour we were at the beach than I’ve seen in the last year, probably. It was quite shocking.

It didn’t take us long to decide that we were all tired out, so we decided to call it day and find something to eat.

We ended up eating at a falafel place that was amazing. Truly. I haven’t had such wonderful falafel and shwerma in such a long time! Egyptian ta’amiya isn’t what I would describe as “great;” I’ve missed authentic Levantine food. Dinner was good. So was sleeping. We were all in bed before 10 PM. We were wiped out.

We still are. We’ve been going non-stop!

Tune in next time to hear Andrew’s tale(s) of border-crossing, or about the boys’ trip to Petra, or about the day Rachel and I spent in Eilat by ourselves while the boys went to Petra, or about getting to Jerusalem and spending our first day here. Clearly we have a lot to catch up on.

(I’m only slightly jealous that Andrew got to go back to Jordan and I didn’t. He keeps telling me about how wonderful it was and how different it is from Egypt and how familiar everything felt. It was our first Middle Eastern home. Still, I’m like 31 weeks pregnant. I barely survived walking around the Old City—we’re in Jerusalem now—today. Petra would have killed me, I’m sure. Maybe next time.)

The Pyramids…again

I think I have sand in my teeth…and everywhere else, for that matter, but the pyramids were all ours for today. For some odd reason there were very few tourists around. I’m not sure what was keeping them away. It may have been the heat. Or the wind whipping scorching hot sand around.

We climbed up Khufu’s pyramid as far as we were aloud, not that the guards would have stopped us if we had tried to break the “rules.” Most of the guards were sitting in the shade doing absolutely nothing, not that I can blame them. This heat sucks energy out of your soul and leaves you dragging under the best of circumstances. I can only imagine how it is to sit in this heat while fasting all day, including abstaining from water (which in this climate is borderline suicidal, in my opinion).

 

Patrick slid down this cement ramp on the front of the pyramids. It was a lot less fun than he thought it was going to be, but he made me take a video of it, anyway. Maybe I’ll post it one day.

All Rachel wanted to do was collect rocks so she wouldn’t sit still for any pictures. Unfortunately the rocks were too hot to handle so she kept throwing them and screaming at them for being too hot. So we didn’t really get a great family picture, but at least we tried.

After much hassle and haggling, we committed to ride some camels out into the desert a little ways. Our “guide” wanted to take us on a big, long trip but, since Rachel is terrified of camels and I’m pregnant, and because they only brought us two camels instead of three, and because we didn’t feel like getting royally ripped off, we insisted that they take us only to the panoramic viewpoint and then back to the pyramids.

As it turned out, we didn’t go far enough out to get a panoramic shot, but it did put us squarely in the desert.

 

Getting sand in your eyes was hard to avoid. The wind was blowing constantly but wasn’t always carrying sand. One minute you’d be fine and the next minute you’d be shielding your eyes from the sand that would suddenly swirl up into your face and try to gouge your eyes out.

Rachel was pretty brave considering she didn’t want to ride the camels at all. The things you do for relatives! She didn’t even scream the whole way and was able to smile for some pictures and wave to me on the other camel and talk about what we were doing. That said, she did do a whole lot of screaming as well.

She sat with Andrew, clinging to him like a little monkey the whole time. Patrick sat behind me so that there’d be room for the baby bump up front.

 

We walked down to the Sphinx using a dirt path by the tombs instead of walking down the sidewalk, which meant that we got to do a little bit of exploring; we were completely uninhibited by pesky tourist police officers, mind you, because none of them wanted to get out of their bit of shade to stop us from going anywhere. There weren’t any signs telling us not to, so we figured it was okay.

 

The ticket into the pyramid complex includes admittance into a number of tombs and things, which are always locked up. Usually there are guards sitting close by and they will open the doors for you and accompany you inside, locking up after you leave. Unfortunately no one was willing to budge from their make-shift chairs to let us in anything, which was kind of sad. But at least we weren’t being followed around by tourism police the whole time we were there.

 

We did, however, finally get to go up close to the Sphinx. The first time we visited the pyramids (three years ago) you had to have a separate ticket to see the Sphinx, so we thought it was the still the same. I guess since they’ve redone the complex and raised the ticket price the Sphinx is now included. We didn’t know that.

 

They still don’t let you get very close to it, which is understandable because it’s a little crumbly. It was nice to finally be able to go back there, though. We’ve only ever seen a few people behind those gates and always wondered how they got back there. Now we know.

We’ll be picking sand out of our ears for the next week, but at least we know.

We also know now that if you ask to be taken to al-Harem instead of al-Ahramat, taxi drivers figure you’re going into Giza for non-touristic purposes and won’t try to rip you off as badly. Al-Harem happens to mean pyramids, but it’s also the name of a main street in Giza (and since it’s named for the pyramids, the pyramids are right on it).

The Citadel and Fawanees

Poor Rachel was wandering around like Toodles on Hook all morning long.

“I lost my uncon,” she kept saying, “I lost my Uncon Patwit!”

Uncle Patrick was having a glorious sleep-in. We all kind of slept in, really. Rachel woke up Daddy at 9:00, I slept until 10:30, and finally at 11:40 Rachel could take it no longer and burst into the guest bedroom to find the dear Uncle Patrick she had lost.

Then she remembered that she was scared of him still and came to a screeching halt. I’m sure her original plan involved climbing up onto the bed and jumping on him because that’s her favorite way of waking people up…so hopefully Patrick won’t be too surprised if that happens tomorrow. They made friends today, so it’s possible.

Yesterday Rachel’s assessment of Uncle Patrick was, “He’s a little bit scary.” Today when we asked her what she thought of him she said, “He’s cute!”

We left for the Citadel soon after Patrick woke up. Everything closes early during Ramadan so we had to make sure we had enough time to actually do something.

Patrick had seen the Citadel on our ride home from the Dervishes yesterday and was curious about it, so it seemed like a good place to take him. We headed up to the Mohammed Ali mosque first. I love going into the courtyard and looking out over the city through the little cutouts in the window.

The marble was so hot on our poor bare feet, so we tried to stay in the shady spots. Rachel kept saying, “Oh! Hot shade! Hot shade!” We walked the whole area of the courtyard, in the shade of course. Rachel thought it was a long walk. We were holding hands and walking very slowly, a few paces behind the boys.

Rachel started singing Dory’s song from Finding Nemo, “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming…” and then stopped herself.

“No, I am not swimming!” she said, “I am walking.”

She took a deep breath and started singing the revised version of the song, “Just keep walking, just keep walking, just keep walking, walking, walking…Just keep walking…”

As long as she’s happy, right?

We went inside the mosque and told Patrick a bit about the architecture and about Islam.

“There are 365 lamps in here,” I told him, indicating the chandeliers circling the room.

“Yeah, half of them don’t work,” he scoffed.

Oh, I’m so proud of him. He’s understanding Egypt so well already.

Since Andrew and I had already been to the National Military museum and weren’t very impressed with it, we decided we’d check out the National Police museum. There was a nice, almost empty courtyard that we relaxed in for a few minutes before heading into the museum.It’s high tourist season right now, so it’s nice to get away from the crowds.

Our favorite display was a diorama depicting the Battle of Ismailiyya. They used actual army men toys—I totally recognized all the poses the men were in, their weapons, the tank. I think my parents still have a bucket of these somewhere in their house.

At least they painted them…

We also enjoyed looking at the random Pharonic artifacts (they have so many of them they don’t know what to do with them; why not put them in the National Police Museum?) and the “Illegal drugs recognition kit.” I’ve never actually seen drug paraphernalia, so it was nice to have it displayed so plainly.

I was just noting the difference between a hash pipe and other drug pipes when Rachel announced she had to use the bathroom, so we left the museum. It was free, anyway. And not all that interesting.

We wandered outside to find the WC and were accosted by the “Supreme Matron of the WC” who graciously let us into the stall with a “chair.” Usually she keeps that stall tied closed because we wouldn’t want just anyone using the porcelain throne, right?

I was glad that she opened it for us because Rachel doesn’t quite understand how to use squatters. What I didn’t like was that she insisted we keep the door open. Because of the “chair.”

Rachel wouldn’t go with the lady watching and the lady wouldn’t let me close the door, so we gave up and left. The lady asked me for money. I told her no since we hadn’t actually used the facilities. Besides, she wouldn’t even let us close the door!

Andrew and Patrick had finished with the museum by the time we came out of the WC. We sat in a corner and sneaked in a little Ramadan snack. Technically Rachel and I don’t have to sneak because we’re exempt from fasting, but it’s a little awkward for Andrew and Patrick to eat in public. While sitting there, I realized that I had to use the WC also but I didn’t want to face the Supreme Matron again.

Patrick noted aloud that a group of Egyptian girls had used the WC and the Supreme Matron didn’t follow them inside or ask for money.

I decided to just go for it. Walk in, and leave…without paying. So I did. The Supreme Matron sent her minion in to let me into the stall with the kursi but I ignored her and used a squatter stall. She asked me for money and I told her I didn’t have any—which was true because I typically don’t carry money. Then I left.

She was miffed and they talked about me behind my back, but I didn’t care. I don’t mind paying to use a toilet in public, but not so much at a place that charges a $10 entrance fee (granted, we only paid $5 because we have student cards) or to Supreme Matrons who are rude and don’t even let me close the bathroom door or offer me any toilet paper, and who are only asking me for money because I’m a “tourist.” I have never been asked for baksheesh to use the bathrooms at the Citadel before; I don’t see why I should start handing it out now.

Using public restrooms in the Middle East is always…interesting…and usually very frustrating.

We walked from the Citadel down to Ibn Tulun, making a few stops along the way to watch a bus being pushed up a hill by a front loader, to buy a bottle of what Rachel calls “icy cold” water for 2 LE (instead of the 12 LE the guy at the Citadel wanted to charge us), and to look at some Ramadan decorations. Rachel sang “just keep walking” the whole time.

We also had to cross the street a few times. This is what Patrick thought of the traffic:

Our favorite fanous was one constructed of a discarded Doritos box.

Our favorite garland was made of empty pasta packages. For as much as Cairenes litter, they sure do know how to reuse things well.

When we got to Ibn Tulun it had already closed for the day. Too bad. Instead we just found a taxi and headed home. Everything else was closed, too.

All of downtown is decked out for Ramadan and we were planning on heading back to walk around and look at all the lamps and things that are set up, but Patrick and I both took too long of naps before dinner and that kind of set us behind schedule.

Instead we went out to see our local “Ramadan Tree,” which is actually several trees on a midan that are swathed in fawanees (which is the plural for fanous, which means lamp…pluralization is one of the many reasons I find Arabic incredibly difficult).

It’s fun to have so many bright lights out; it makes everything seem cheery and festive. Since we can’t go Christmas-light-looking here we go for Ramadan-fanous-shuftis instead.

We also stopped by Road 9 to run some errands and inquire about purchasing our own fanous. They really aren’t all that expensive; the challenge will be finding a sturdy, transportable one. We did end up buying some Ramadan fabric, which I’m excited about. My friend Melissa said they had friends over for dinner and she mentioned needing to go and cover her house in Ramadan fabric. I thought that was a wonderful idea…so we bought some just so we could do that when we get home. Is it weird to buy fabric just so you can use it when you have guests over to eat Arabic food?

If it is, who cares? Ramadan Kareem!