Episode 17: "The Judges, Pt. 2" (+) [V] [UPDATED]

Eric and Gaby asked the driver to stop the minibus. They were determined to talk their way out of our situation--something I definitely wouldn't have done on my own. I'd already given up on the idea of getting through the checkpoint, but as always, Gaby and Eric were taking charge. I got out of the bus behind them and the driver and pretty much watched everything unfold.

The three of them started talking to the military men about our situation: that we had been told our visas would get us through to Cairo, that we'd paid for them, etc. I was touched by the fact that our driver actively joined in to help us out, speaking an emphatic Arabic and apparently helping our cause. After a few minutes of persistence, the checkpoint guys decided to help us out, reassuring us that we would be able to get through the other checkpoints, too. Soon we were back in the car and on our way to Cairo.

Needless to say, we were pretty happy. All of the underlying stress that came with our visa situation, which was present even during our best times in Dahab, was finally being put to rest. We had been absurdly fortunate, and we knew it. Although our success had mostly depended on the mercy of the Egyptian government, it obviously had to do with Eric and Gaby's determination, too. If we had done things my way--the patented Eric Glover Complacence and Passive Acceptance Schtick--our entire day would have been ruined with traveling, maybe even more. And if Eric hadn't been stubborn enough to find us "visas" in the first place, we would have had nothing to show the military guys at the checkpoint. So far, it was Eric and Gaby's style of doing things that had rewarded us.

We made it to Cairo a little sooner than we thought we would. Our driver was tearing up the roads, stopping once to change a tire in the desert (scary and exciting, since there was absolutely no one around for miles if we needed help), and another time for a bathroom break (the bathroom was horribly infested with flies, a motif that became a general pet peeve of mine in Egypt). The city itself was beautiful. It felt like New York with only the slightest Arab twist. Densely packed buildings, tons of people, busy roads, the works. It felt great to finally arrive.

Before we even got out of the minibus, there was a girl at our door, asking us something in Arabic. It became clear that she wanted some food. We gave some to her and then went to check in at the hostel, "Hotel Vienna." At the desk we met the manager, Ramadan. He was a gray-haired, pudgy-stomached guy, very chill. He told us that he could offer us some nice tourist trip packages. After we got our key from him, we got a room that was even nicer than the Bishbishi hostel in Dahab. On our way out to get some dinner, we saw Ramadan breaking fast (for the Muslim holiday Ramadan) with his family. He invited us to eat, which was incredibly generous, and the food was delicious, too.

Later, while we were walking outside, we found a place where people were having tea. A guy named Muhammad helped us get situated, got our drinks for us, and started talking to us as we sat. He introduced himself very pleasantly, and after we got talked up a bit, he invited us to his perfume shop. Inside he told us about a package he could get us regarding the pyramids, showing us pictures along with his pitch. The three of us told him we'd get some dinner and get back to him, but the general feel was that he was offering us a pretty nice deal. At dinner, though, I got into a bit of a quip with Gaby, who wanted to see if we could get a better deal from Ramadan back at the hostel. I guess I was getting frustrated with Gaby because I felt we'd had a great time with Muhammad, and I didn't want to make Muhammad and Ramadan compete over us in light of that. It just didn't feel sincere to me. Of course, I got none of that out eloquently, only managing to tell him I was wiping my hands clean of any haggling whatsoever. "I don't see what's wrong with getting a better deal," Gaby said.

For whatever reason, Eric and Gaby decided to go with Ramadan's deal. So by morning we were on our way to Saqqara, the "prototype" pyramid built by Imhotep back in the day, driven by a guy who was probably one of Ramdan's buddies. The site was twofold: #1 was the actual pyramid, which wasn't smooth like the ones you see in pictures. The formula for a polished pyramid surface hadn't been perfected yet back in those days (whenever B.C.E., don't ask me). Number 2 was the underground ruins you were allowed to go into. Our driver informed us not to get a guide, because we would have to tip whoever gave us a tour.

Outside the Saqqara ruins.

My contribution to the destruction of ancient hieroglyphics.
I took the picture, with a flash, sans thinking.

The inside of the ruins was great. Seeing the hieroglyphics up close was fascinating. The culture reflected in their symbols was so complex, so intricate and so vibrant that I felt I had a real sense of who the Egyptians were as a people. It's just as intriguing as stuff you see on TV, in movies. Extremely colorful, very satisfying to catch in person. The only lame part about my time inside was having to do some evasive maneuvers from a guy who caught me taking the picture of the hieroglyphics. He didn't work for anyone exactly; like a lot of the guys we'd run into at these sites, he was just a dude talking about the history of the place when you came in and expecting a tip by the end of his schpiel. So when I took the picture, I suppose he also thought he had the authority to say to me, "Excuse me, no photo. Give me one dollar." I didn't comply.

After checking out the ruins, we walked around the Saqqara step pyramid. We weren't allowed to go inside, but trust me, the outside was more than enough.

Oh yes.


Unfortunately, the pyramid isn't too stable.
Egypt is reconstructing the outside of it.

Afterward, our driver took us to a museum dedicated to the ruins of Ramses II. It was a brief stay, but worth glimpsing the goods:

When we were done there, our driver took us to get something to eat, then to the main event of the day: the Giza 'mids. We had spent a little too much time eating, though, because now it was a race against time to check out the pyramids before the whole site closed down. About a block away from the entrance to the site, our driver introduced us to a guy who wanted set up a camel ride for us around the pyramids. The price was a little steep, but I was up for considering it. Gaby cut that train of thought off when he told the guy we didn't have time to ride camels. Eric backed him up. The guy began offering us lower prices, but Gaby brushed him off. As we started to walk away, this guy and his friend began walking with us, all pressure and not taking "no" for an answer, no matter how many times it was said. Eventually, we left them behind. After they stopped following us, I was left wondering whether I had been too willing to comply with the camel guy. Gaby had done the right thing by being assertive about our time. I would have wasted my time and/or money by catering to this guy's offer.

We hustled our way up a walkway, barreling past the sphinx in our rush to see the pyramids, only to find a gate blocking off the path. The place wasn't closed yet--we had just gone the wrong way to get there. After a roundabout walkathon we found the place to buy tickets for going inside one of the great pyramids. It finally seemed like we were home free. Except when we got to the pyramid, there were three security guys sitting at the entrance.

One of them asked Gaby, "Do you have a camera?"
"No," Gaby said.
They told him to open his bag and found his camera inside. Eric and I had cameras on us, too. The security guys told us to go take our cameras back to our car, then come back without them.
"You people never told us to leave our cameras," Gaby said to them. Which was true. There had been no signs or any warning from the people at the entrance. By now it was impossible to go back to the car, drop of our cameras and trek back up to the site in time to see anything. It felt ridiculous and frustrating to be this close and being told to turn back. Even after protesting, the most we got out of the security guys was a suggestion: go to where we bought our tickets and leave our cameras there.

We retreated. Eric and Gaby didn't want to leave their cameras with the ticket office, but I didn't see any other honest way to get into the pyramid. Eric and Gaby came up with the idea of returning to the security guys acting like we had dropped our cameras off. I said that if we lied to the security guys and they checked our bags anyway, they wouldn't let us in at all. I asked them to let me go check with the ticket office to see if there was anything I could do. But the guy at the ticket office said that he wouldn't keep our cameras for us.

Gaby and Eric made a kind of silent decision to proceed ahead with their plan. As we approached the security guys again, it's safe to say that the pros and cons of their decision were playing Pong with my conscience. I asked, "Are we really doing this?"
"Yes," Eric said.
We walked past the security guards. They trusted we didn't have our cameras. Again, the Gaby/Eric way had gotten us what we wanted. If I had been alone on this part of the trip, I wouldn't have been inside by now.

[EDIT:

Kind of a "this just in" thing. What used to be here were text and pictures of Gaby, Eric and I defiling an Egyptian sarcophagus by lying in it. I had written an explanation for why I felt all right doing it at the time, but for those of you who already read it, you already know it wasn't much of an excuse. My mom just called me and told me how hurt she was that I would desecrate something that precious to Egyptian--and thus African--culture. She said I was disrespecting my own people by participating in that. Which, she added, was especially awful after taking measures to respect Eric and Gaby's wishes regarding anti-Semitism in the area. Mom being disappointed in me is pretty much rock bottom, so I took the pictures down.

Sorry to anyone else this entry hurt. I'm probably going to be feeling this one for a long, long time.]

Anyway, after that escapade we checked out the rest of the site.

Kind of the epitome of our time in Egypt.
We're trying to pose for a picture and, as you can see,
this guy just killed the photo by trying to sell us something.
I tried my best to be polite.

This last picture takes place just before some guy approached the three of us, asking if we wanted to either climb the pyramid we were near or ride a camel, I can't remember. Once we said no, the guy's face instantly changed from smiling to stony. I guess we'd pissed him off. He began to walk away, then turned back. Another smile was soon on his face.
"Do you like history?" he asked.
"Yes..." I said.
He pulled out a coin I had never seen before. On one side of the coin was the image of an Egyptian Pharaoh. It was in color, very beautiful.
"This is history," the man said.
I wasn't interested, but the man managed to continue the conversation with Gaby. He told Gaby that he would sell him the coin for one euro. Once Gaby realized the coin the guy was showing us was just an Egyptian pound, he lit into the guy, laughing at what a sham he'd try to put on. Essentially, as Gaby pointed out, the man was trying to sell Gaby a coin for several times its actual cost. The conversion rate of Egyptian pounds to euros makes the Egyptian pound look like a chump, and Gaby made sure to tell the guy he wasn't stupid. I laughed it off with both of them later, but at heart I was pretty disturbed by the man's actions. If we had fallen for it, he would have cheated us out of our money.

At night we met up with the Corina Gang to go have dinner at Ruby Tuesday's, which Gaby's friend Georgia took us to. While we were there, I had a long discussion with Zuzana about my faith. It was the first time I honestly felt like I was getting to know her, and it feels like she and I have been true friends ever since. Anyway.

The next day all of us, minus Georgia, went to the Egypt Museum. I had heard the museum was incredibly extensive in its collection, and wasn't that the truth. I wasn't allowed to take pictures inside (and I didn't retaliate by lying in a sarcophagus this time), so all I can give you is a pic from the outside.

The amount of artifacts in the museum was astounding. Sarcophagi, coffins, tablet inscriptions, statues, mummies, jewelry, and more had filled a building three stories high. Jeremy and I stuck with each other for most of it, traversing the long hallways and stopping to peek in offshoot rooms dedicated to particular periods of the Egyptian Kingdom. It really was incredible, and far too much to take in over the course of a few hours.

At around 2, Eric, Gaby, Zuzana and I met up with a guy named Hanyel. Eric and Gaby had met him the night before, and Hanyel had volunteered to pick us up to check out the old city. He turned out to be extremely chill, personable and knowledgeable about the area. He'd brought a relative with him, who was pretty quiet, but seemed nice enough. Hanyel first took us to the "Hanging Church," so called because its foundation was established high above actual ground level. It was beautiful inside. Eric took the following shots.

That man is a gifted photographer.

Hanyel also took us to a gorgeous synagogue. And to finish out the three faiths of Abraham, he took us to my first ever mosque. It was incredible to finally be inside one. As I should have expected, the atmosphere was nothing like church, or synagogue, for that matter. The architecture was extremely "open," meaning lots of sunlight, lots of space to walk, sit, read, whatever. There was a sermon taking place at the far end of the building, where people sat on the floor and listened to a man hooked up to a loudspeaker.

Hanyel, Gaby, me and Zuzana inside the mosque.

At one point I picked out a Koran from a bookshelf. I opened the book and found Arabic script on beautiful stationary, written out in what seemed like stanzas of poetry, rather than Biblical prose. Of course, I couldn't tell exactly what it was, but I already had the impression of something much different than the religious text I was used to. I passed the book to Hanyel and he explained a little bit to us. He said that the first and last character of the entire Koran spells an Arabic word that means "end." In the Muslim world this is taken to mean, or confirm, that the Koran is the "last word" on God--a final testament after the Old and New ones. Hanyel also said that "we" don't believe that Jesus died on the cross; instead, it's believed that the real Jesus somehow escaped crucifixion. The logic here is that God would never let anything happen to a chosen prophet of his. It was definitely food for thought. I had heard that Islam accepted Jesus as a prophet, but never that there was any legend separating Christ from crucifixion. To me, it would have been far easier to say that Jesus simply wasn't a chosen prophet, because of what happened to him. Instead, Islamic tradition had found a way to reconcile Christ's holiness with a seemingly unholy death on the cross, in order to exonerate him of any doubt regarding prophet-hood. Really interesting.

Hanyel drove us home, and the four of us went out again later to get dinner. After we were pressured into sharing a Ramadan break fast with guys from the a nearby Papyrus shop (the food was amazing), we went out and got some dessert at a cafe. Soon Eric, Gaby and I were talking over the trip with Zuzana, comparing our group's experiences with hers. We got to discussing why ours had gone so well while her group had suffered some troubles. To be honest, by then my group had gotten pretty cocky about pitching our "perfect game" so far in Egypt. It felt good, going through what we had gone through with our visas, and having an incredible trip anyway.

But that was before what happened with the police. And the hotel manager. And the stranger we met near the citadel.

The adventure always, always continues.

Shalom,
Eric

Episode 16: "The Judges, Pt. 1" (+) [V]

Dusk.

After a while, Eric finally gave the hostel guys another call. Turns out our driver had already arrived and was waiting for us. We just had to walk a bit further to find him. Our driver was sitting by a parking lot, where a bunch of other Arab guys were, too. Upon seeing them--their traditional garb, hearing their Arabic, seeing a fresh skin tone on new faces--it became instantly clear that we were in a different country, and all of two minutes from Israel.

We arrived at the Bishbishi hostel and were immediately accomodated by a young guy named Alex, who ran the show there. Straight off I picked up on how smooth talking he was, giving us a SCUBA diving package "no problem," a camel ride "no problem," a private minibus "no problem." He was really, really good at loosening us up and making us feel taken care of.

Eric holding "The Bible" (our Egyptian travel guide)
in our hostel room.

Alex suggested that we check out the Funny Mummy, a restaurant across the street. It was an extremely chill setup, floor cushion seating right on the Red Sea surf. There was something so classy, so style-and-chic about it, that I was pretty into the Dahab scene already. A guy named Muhammad was our waiter. He asked if I was from Africa, and I said no, but the way he'd asked had come off as an extremely nice compliment. Apparently Egyptians don't consider themselves part of Africa as much as the Middle East, so dark skin is still somewhat a fresh thing among its bronze-skinned folks. I dug the question. Muhammad had seemed genuinely honored to have an African in his restaurant.

At one point--I think it was Muhammad who asked--we were asked where we were from by a waiter. The problem: Gaby and Eric were pretty sensitive about exposing that they were Jewish in an Arab nation. From the get-go they told me their plan to keep the fact that we were Hebrew U students under wraps, and I let them know I had a pretty big problem with lying to people. So when Muhammad asked where we came from, and I began to answer honestly, Eric cut me off with a fake answer. After Muhammad was gone, I asked if we really did have to lie to people when they asked directly. Eric and Gaby bristled, trying to be careful with me, but trying to express the need to protect themselves.

I said something like, "How about this. When someone asks me, I go to Hebrew University. You guys can say whatever you want." The subject was dropped.

We got some rest soon after dinner, and in the morning we made our way over to the diving school down the street. By afternoon, we were set up in SCUBA gear and ready to get wet.

Ready.

Set.

Flow.

I dived linking arms with Eric and guided by a SCUBA instructor. Going underwater was frustrating and beautiful. It was my first time ever SCUBA diving, and getting accustomed to the process was challenging. The further I descended, the more my ear started hurting because of water pressure. I constantly had to "equalize," pinching my nose while blowing air into it, to get the pain to stop. Once I had to even signal my instructor to take us higher because the pain was so sharp. But that's pretty much it for the complaints. Seeing the fish and the corral up close was gorgeous. A one of a kind experience. Do it sometime if you haven't already.

After drying off.

After the "discovery dive" was over, Eric and I snorkeled a little a bit, dried off and went back to the hostel. Around dinner time, we found a restaurant right next to the hostel for dirt cheap food. While we were mulling over the window menu, we heard someone call Gaby's name. We turned to find friends of ours from Hebrew U: Corina, my roommate, Jeremy, my Christian buddy, and Zuzana, a cool-as-can-be Czech chick. Another friend, Melissa Johnson, was right behind them. We decided to eat together.

Together again.

Turns out their group hadn't been doing too well. They'd run into visa troubles too, and had been through hell trying to get legit ones all day. Although they were successful, they were pretty unhappy with the trip so far; a lot had gone wrong, and undeservedly. Their visas actually looked like ours, but glued to their passports with official stamps on them. Anyway, I was really glad to see their group. Just being able to talk to them was so refreshing and exciting. We got the name of the hostel they were staying in, so that may be we could meet up in Cairo. If my group could even make it there at all. Our visa situation was sketchy at best.

Gaby, Eric and I went to a club, where they had some beer and I danced myself out a little. We turned in and woke up early the next day for some camel riding. The hostel arranged for us to take a jeep to our destination, the Blue Hole. Just before we left, one of our friends from Bishbishi told us not to tell anyone we were American. I kind of stiffened; I was feeling some mounting tension regarding the whole white lie identity deal.

A young white guy and his mother got in after us, and we were off. The guy and his mom were South African, and the dude's name was Keith. I forget his mom's name, unfortunately. They were really friendly on our trip to the Blue Hole, though, and made for good company. We arrived at the Blue Hole, which was basically a rocky landscape against beautiful blue water. Here's an idea of it:

That's me in the jeans.

As we got our heads wrapped for the sunny trip, an Egyptian Tourism officer approached me, while I was semi-separate from the group. "Where are you from?" he asked. And after a split-second strain, I let slip that we were from the states. He said okay and walked off. I was honestly pretty scared that what I said was going to blow up in all our faces. I didn't tell Eric or Gaby what had happened; I was starting to feel pressure from them and I really didn't feel like dealing with it.

We found our camels on the shore and saddled up. From there we made an hour plus journey to the Bedouin village of Ras Abu Gallun. The ride there was long and pretty uncomfortable, but the scenery was frickin' priceless. Here's a picture of the ride and of the destination:

We got to the Bedouin village, which was basically a bunch of simply built wooden huts on the shore of the beach. We went snorkeling, but my mask wasn't the proper size for my head and kept filling with water. Eventually we got a great lunch with tea from the Bedouin folks. (The whole time we ate, two little girls and an older woman sat by, trying to sell us trinkets. To buy or not to buy? Financial question or ethical one? Didn't want the trinkets, wanted to save money, but these people were probably living in poverty... This is how my mind works.)

At the end of our time in the village, we found the camels again for our ride home. Keith helped me to get onto mine all right. Before he went to get on his own, he said something that really touched me. Something like, "I know this is going to sound weird, but I'm just gonna say it. You seem like a really strong, disciplined person. I respect that, and keep it up." Those weren't his exact words, but he had definitely let me know that there was something about me that he admired. I was taken aback, really--trying to think of whatever my behavior had been to justify his compliment. I thought of a little bit, but not enough to really see why had given me such an uplifting and inspiring set of words. I felt like I was floating after what he said. And as we rode back together, he kept going--kept telling me that he saw something really dignified and special about me. That sometimes people need to know if they're doing well, and that he wanted to seize the opportunity to say that I was doing something right. It was such an incredible feeling to hear that from someone who was a stranger at the beginning of the day. His words really had an affect on me.

As we rode back, I learned more about Keith. He was married, and a new father. He was raising his child on a kibbutz in Israel. His mother was visiting to spend time with him, and to see her grandchild. We talked some more--he encouraged me some more--and we made it back to the Blue Hole to snorkel. This time I found some good goggles and took to the water really well. The fish were amazing to see. There were fish of every kind, "Finding Nemo"-style colorful, incredible to watch and to approach so close. Plus the water was a fantastic blue. It was breathtaking all around.

Back at Bishbishi, we parted ways with Keith and his mom, with slim chance of seeing them again. Although they were still in the hostel, it looked like our schedules were separating. I hugged Keith and his mom off, but we actually saw them again as we headed out to dinner. I told them where they could find us if they wanted to.

Gaby, Eric and I went to the Funny Mummy again, where Muhammad actually recognized me and remembered my name. He said he remembered me in particular because of the Africa deal,

which flattered me again...hard to explain in words. While we were eating, we saw Keith and his mom there. They announced that, like us, they were going to Mount Sinai in the morning, which I was really happy about. Ah, and a side note: if you don't know, Sinai is where the Bible says Moses received God's commandments. Pretty slick stuff.

Anyway, the guys and I had a great dinner, but toward the end of it, Eric semi-announced he and Gaby had something to tell me. Not very comfortable; it had the air of confrontation. Eric told me that they really wanted me to keep the Israel stuff quiet, for safety purposes. (Gaby had already experienced a bit of anti-Semitism in small form the night before, and he wasn't up for any more of it.) I must have put up some kind of protest, because I remember Gaby saying--a bit frustrated with me--"We're not lying with malicious intent." It shut me up and sent me into one of my internal temper tantrums. After about ten minutes of feeling bitter, my anger gave way to some shame.

Bottom line: I'm not Jewish. Instead of choosing to empathize with my friends, I took the "moral high ground," disregarding how they might feel in the process. I had the luxury of being truthful because I'm black, Christian, and thus socially unassociated with Israel. I'd failed them a little bit by being stubborn about principles, and when I realized that, I tried to adjust my attitude. I apologized to Eric later about it, and he took it cool.

Early in the morning--I don't even think it was much past 1 a.m.--we got up and were driven in a minibus to Mount Sinai for a long hike to the summit. The journey was dark, cold, and extremely tiring. Our tour guide didn't speak much English, so he didn't do much else but walk really fast and barely wait for us to keep up with him. We rushed up with an enormous crowd, stopping at established rest stops where you could buy candy or drinks, passing by camels, talking to each other as the stars shone in the sky. The hike felt endless, but of course, it wasn't.

The summit. Front row seats to the sunrise.


A feeling of accomplishment as the sunrise approached.

Our guide happened to guide us to a spot on the summit where Keith and his mother were. We went down to where they were sitting and chilled with them, waiting for the sun to do its thing.

Keith and his mother.

The reason we woke up so early.


The unit, triumphant.

We descended the mountain, which took forever, and finally said our last goodbyes to Keith and his mom. After some ridiculousness, we found our driver, picked up snacks for the undetermined length of the trip, and began our journey, hoping for the best. It was our moment of truth coming up--all the visa drama was going to be laid to rest one way or another. For those of you just tuning in, we didn't have confidence that the "visas" we bought would get us into mainland Egypt. If they didn't, it would be hours driving back to Taba Heights, and through the border to Eilat. Not to mention the drive back. If we weren't cleared at the checkpoint, all our hoping was going to be for naught. After maybe fifteen minutes we reached the checkpoint, hoping for Cairo and not Taba.

As expected, our driver took our passports and gave them to the military to check over, with our visas inside. We held our breaths. Eventually one of the military officers handed the passports back to our driver and said something to him. Our driver turned the van away from the checkpoint and began driving.

We asked him where we were going. "To Taba," he said. He briefly added that our visas weren't good.

We began to leave the checkpoint behind.

Shalom,
Eric