Episode 21: "The Mount of Olives, Pt. 2" (+)

During one of my last nights in Cairo, I ran into my Hebrew U friends Charise and Toby. They mentioned that their main plans were to see the pyramids. When we were all back in Israel, Charise told me some rough details about how their pyramid trip had gone. Apparently, Charise and Toby saw a young girl trying to sell something on the pyramid grounds. She was physically beaten by an adult male for reasons Charise wasn't sure of. Then she was chased away by the police.

I relayed all of this to Val, my Christian cohort and fellow adventurer. Some of you will remember him from the movie Miami Vice 2: Israeli Vice (production still below):

Some of you won't.

He's been a pretty consistent confidant over here in Israel, whether it's stuff that really bothers me, like Charise's Egypt story, or stuff on the stupider side (he puts up with my "roommates are clogging up the shower drain with their hair" complaints). Over the months we've been able to talk a lot about life, school, and most importantly, faith. I remember him impressing my religious sensibilities when we first met at the airport, as he was going around trying to help people with a luggage situation. And I suppose my religious connection with him was cemented once he told me he was a Christian, and that he'd read the entire Bible (a personal short term goal of mine). As the year has progressed I've found him to be a great friend, someone I can talk to about pretty much anything.

So I had no problem telling him my feelings on Charise's story: that I was uncomfortable with what had happened on a human level as well as a "Christian" level. Not only was it wrong that this girl was being beaten by a grown man, but it was also wrong that no one came to the girl's rescue. From what I understood of Charise's story, the girl was standing in broad daylight, in sight of plenty of adults who could have put themselves between the man and the girl. I'm not saying that the people around that day had the responsibility to play hero: I'm saying that I would have. If I were there, I would have had the obligation as a Christian to do something. But I also know that not too deep inside me is a terrified little boy who's afraid to take action in scary circumstances. I know what some of you are thinking: I wasn't there when that girl was being beaten. It doesn't matter what I would have done.

But it really, really does.

As promised, Val took me to the Garden of Gethsemane on the Mount of Olives. This was about two weeks after I went with Dr. Pederson. To get there, he and I cut through an Arab street called Wadi Al-Joz (I might be spelling it funky). During our walk, I learned a bit more about Val's past before coming here, asking questions about his time in acting school. Our conversation was cut off by a fight that broke out. A group of maybe twenty-something people swarmed together in a parking lot over a smaller scuffle. A guy maybe my age was coming down hard on a boy who wasn't more than twelve.

Val remembered how I felt about Charise's story. "This one's not ours," he said.

One of the younger boys was crying and had run across the street. The crowd followed him across the road, where the fight seemed to subside. Val and I continued walking. Should I have done something? Wasn't this exactly the situation I had been talking to Val about? Yes and no...there were tons more people involved, which made things more complicated to handle.

Down the road, Val and I saw a police car approaching where the fight had taken place behind us. The siren of the car wasn't on, and it seemed stuck in thick traffic, but it would reach the fight group within the minute.

"Maybe we should say something," Val said. We considered it. The traffic had slowed down the police enough for us to approach them easily. But we figured the situation was already handled. The car was so close to the scene that they could definitely handle the fight crowd. Plus, looking back over our shoulders, the fight had seemed to calm down. We let the police car go by, watching to see what would happen next. The police car passed by the crowd without stopping.

We should have told them.

I felt pretty guilty in the immediate aftermath, walking still toward the Mount of Olives. What had stopped me from getting involved? It was definitely an outgrowth of fear--the hope that someone else would handle the situation for me. What was that psychological study? Woman gets stabbed to death screaming for help, no one aids her because everyone assumes someone else will do it. I'm one of the twenty/thirty/forty who walks right on by, assuming.

Anyway. It might have been then that I told Val that maybe helping people in trouble is more than having the courage to do it. It's also about having the presence of mind to help people in the smartest way possible. It's easy to panic and shy away from the situation because of imminent danger. Collecting yourself and doing the heroic thing with common sense (such as talking to the police, in our situation) is the name of the game. It felt natural to count on Val to understand my struggles with stuff like this. He's a Jesus freak too, and being a follower of Christ for him heightens the value of human sacrifice/selfless efforts.

Eventually, we made it to the Garden of Gethsemane. For those of you who don't know, this is where Jesus prayed that he would not have to die, just before he was arrested for crucifixion. That aspect of the synoptic gospels is one of my personal favorites. Reading his prayer proves to me that he was a human being who, while divine, felt fear just like I do.


Check out the English verse at the top of the picture, where Jesus asks not to die, but ends the prayer with, "Nevertheless not as I will, but as thou will." Never gets old. He felt fear like I do, but I can overcome fear like he did.

The Garden was a small patch of land that was gated off. Beautiful, very well kept. Right by it was the Church of Nations, named so because it was founded by several countries across the globe.

Val just outside Gethsemane's gate.

Val again, the Garden of Gethsemane,
and the Church of All Nations.

(And since I know how to put videos amidst the text now, I'm gonna drop the [V] thing at the top of entries. No use in notifying you of a new entry in the video bar if the video's right here for you to see.)

I sat for a minute, contemplating/praying. Val and I noticed the gardener open the gate to let a group of people see the Garden from the inside. After they left, we asked the gardener if we could come in. He said that the group before had gotten permission from a church father.

"How can we get permission from a father?" I asked.

Soon, we were in. The gardener hustled us a little bit, but I was so glad to have actually made it, even if it was for a minute. The trees were rough, ancient-looking. The plant life was simple, not too extravagant. To think that Jesus actually prayed there was really exciting.

The inside.

Afterward, we briefly went into the Church of All Nations. It looked like a Catholic service, being done at least partially in Spanish. The inside was dim, the ceiling was high, and the tiled art was wonderful, if I remember correctly. I also think the priests were singing prayers while Val and I were inside. It was fantastic, as expected.

The Church of All Nations.

Outside the Garden again, Val and I saw a group of people, maybe pilgrims, entering some gate. On impulse, Val and I decided to follow the group inside. Our efforts to play it incognito were thrown out the window by a nun who immediately realized we weren't part of the group. But she didn't give us any beef about it. We followed the group up a pathway and found ourselves in front of a building I'd seen a few times from far away:

The Convent of Saint Mary Magdalene.

Our group was led inside. As we came in, we heard a woman singing in prayer. She was on the right side of a dark room. At the back of the room was an enormous painting of Mary Magdalene in front of some European king, although I had no idea what legend or oral tradition the picture was depicting. Val and I roamed around the room with the group, checking out the room as the woman continued to sing. There were religious icons hung up on one side of the room, which was cool. There were two candle-holders in the middle of the room, holding a ring of burning candles. Val got us a couple candles to light and put among the other lit candles.

Although I hadn't understood all of what was inside, I appreciated seeing the convent. And even more so with Val there. It's been really, really good having a friend to share my faith with. One of those priceless things I cherish most here.

Shalom,
Eric

Epilogue:

I was in a cab, on my way to a dance club with four of my friends. Just a minute before our drop off spot, I saw something happening through the window. Two, maybe three guys were standing by a dumpster. Another guy was on the ground, being kicked by one of those standing. They disappeared behind the dumpster as our cab passed them by.

I tried to describe what I saw to everyone as fast as I could. I asked the cab driver for his help in reaching the police. No one believed what I said at first. But I insisted that I knew what I saw, and that we get help. Responding to the urgency in my voice, I guess, the cab driver said that there was a police station nearby and turned the cab around.

As the cab looped, we I saw the same group of guys--except all of them were standing up this time. I think one of them threw something to the other. And if I remember correctly, one of them pushed the other. It still didn't look ideal, but it did seem a lot less dire than a few seconds ago. The cab driver even suggested the situation looked playful. Whatever the case--there didn't seem to be the need for police anymore. I don't know if things were spic-and-span, but they didn't look as life threatening as we passed those guys the second time.

There was a sense of relief in the cab. My friends applauded me on being so willing to save the day. I told Val what happened later. And now I'm telling you:

I hope I've got what it takes if there's a next time.

Episode 20: "The Mount of Olives, Pt. 1" ( +)

Dr. Pederson took Zuzana, Jeremy and I to the Mount of Olives one weekend during the fall. Here's a brush-up on what all those cool cats look like:

Dr. Pederson.

Jeremy and Zuzana, in that order.

We met up with Dr. P. at Damascus Gate, the usual rendezvous for these trips by now. The original plan was to go straight to the Mount, but Zuzana had an interest in seeing "The Garden Tomb," which, according to some, is where Jesus was buried. An excerpt from the brochure:

"This garden has been carefully preserved as a Christian holy site because many believe it could be the garden of Joseph of Arimathea in which Jesus was buried after his crucifixion. It is maintained by an independent British charitable trust, The Garden Tomb Foundation. You are welcome to tour the Garden and to explore its spiritual significance."

We did just that. The garden was extremely beautiful. The British folks taking care of business over there are doing a heck of a job.

Dr. P. vocalized that she didn't believe this place was really where Jesus was buried (the Church of the Holy Sepulcher claims that tradition as well), but the place was still incredible on account of the amount of veneration given to it. The Garden Tomb was wonderful on the eyes, and filled with people who were really happy to be there. There was a group from Latin America singing Christian songs together in Spanish, which was cool to hear.

We briefly looked at the site nearby that is claimed to be Golgotha, the place where Jesus was crucified. Then we waited in line to see the tomb. People were solemnly praying inside. It's always good times to see people that juiced up over their faith.

"Golgotha."

We took an Arab bus to the Mount of Olives. Dr. P. bought us to the front of the Church of the Ascension, where Jesus is said to have been lifted into heaven. It's since been turned into a mosque, as you can see in the picture below (that's no cross at the top).

The Church of the Ascension posing with
the top of my head.

Dr. P. took us to her monastery, where we chilled out in the guest garden.

The garden.

Some doggies.

In the garden with a doggie.


A view of Jerusalem from a rooftop in the garden.

The monastery church.

Dr. P. sat us down, brought out some cookies, and talked with us for a while. It was good times.

After that, we went to the Church of the Pater Noster (the Lord's Prayer). Traditionally, it's where Jesus first taught the prayer. There's a church there, which I briefly saw, but the real treat was the courtyard and corridors outside of it. Along the walls were tiled sections, each dedicated to the Lord's Prayer in a different language. I guarantee you, the Lord's prayer was translated into every conceivable language you know, and then some. It was incredible. There was a cave you could go into to check out where Jesus may have said the prayer, which was cool, but my attention was already pretty well captured by the several translations.

The courtyard.

Standing in front of the Hebrew translation.

The Lord's Prayer in Cherokee. Beat that.
(P.S.--You can't.)

In Braille. Touch your prayer.

We tried to cap off the day by visiting what I believe was a Russian church, but it was closed by the time we got to the grounds. Dr. P. did let us know that we could still catch a view of the Israel/West Bank wall from there.

That gray strip along the middle of the picture.


Jeremy looking at the wall, being iconic.
That or I made him pose for the picture.


Zuz and I, at the same spot.

Afterward, Pederson showed us the way home. It was a simple, sunny excursion that I'm glad I was able to make. There was, however, one thing missing: The Garden of Gethsemane. Although it was on the Mount of Olives, we just didn't fit it in to our schedule that day. When I told my friend Val I'd missed out on that, he promised to take me back soon.

Shalom,
Eric

Episode 19: "The Classes" (+) [V]

So. The past three months.

After Ulpan and Egypt, our official classes started up in October. The default for most of us was that Hebrew would continue. The next step for me was Advanced Aleph, which was focused on the tail end of our Hebrew text book and prep for the next level, Bet. I was moving on up, Jeffersons style, and the step forward came with quite a shakeup. I had all new teachers and a lot of new classmates. Honestly, it was pretty hard to deal with the new status quo. I had grown used to our teachers and our group, and by the end of summer we had all grown pretty close. But I did know a lot of the people in my new class, and I did have Becca Kib with me from Ulpan. Remember this girl?

She came over my place to study a lot.

The class itself had kind of a rough start. The teachers, Tali and Anat, were exceptionally nice and great at what they did. The problem was the transition between Ulpan and the semester courses, in terms of pacing and content overlap. During one class, Tali started us off with numbers we had already covered during Ulpan, which pushed my roommate Corina to make the switch out of my class in hopes of finding a more challenging teacher. In the first couple of weeks after she left, I wondered if I should have made the same choice. The pace seemed mind-numbingly slow in our class. But after a while, very gradually, the tempo evened out a bit. It was never as challenging as Ulpan was, but I did end up learning a lot from my teachers.

As for my main classes, there were three. The first was Early Church History, with Dr. Petra Heldt. She'd a wonderfully nice German lady who I happened to meet during one of my excursions with my favorite nun, Dr. Pederson. Petra and Pederson are friends through an ecumenical Christian fraternity in Jerusalem, and first meeting Petra through Pederson was a pleasure. Once Petra and I figured out I was taking her class, I was really excited.

This is her.

The class turned out okay. A major hiccup that I thought the course suffered from was the format. Instead of laying out the groundwork of the emerging church in a chronological, or at least linear order, Petra preferred to take glimpses at different aspects of Christianity in early centuries C.E. Her goal in doing so was to help us put the pieces together to form one larger picture of a changing faith. Her methods were probably wisely chosen, but for me they were somewhat frustrating. I felt I had no definitive ground to stand on in approaching the class material. On top of that, I felt the readings were, a great deal of the time, highly esoteric. I found myself skimming passages that seemed to cater to scholars of Petra's caliber rather than to beginners. This isn't to say it was a bad class; I very much liked Petra and valued her intelligent insights. That said, given the sometimes difficult material and the greater lack of focus, I wasn't always motivated throughout the course.

The second course is my "money" class, the one that was almost 100% consistent in keeping my interest. The title of it was Religious Foundations of Judaism. It was an intro level course that covered the basics of the religion. I was pretty floored by it early on. My teacher, Raphael Jospe, gave us a substantial amount of reading, a good chunk of which was written by him. His writings about Judaism were absolutely amazing. I was so impressed by the humility, compassion and intelligence behind his work. With a couple of his articles I felt that I better understood the religious need for Israel as a homeland and the Jewish sense of being "chosen," all without ever considering his opinions arrogant. His course was taught so well that sometimes I would find myself more awake by the end of class than at the beginning. His lecturing--which was simple, occasionally emphatic, and always interesting--opened up Judaism to me in exactly the way I'd hoped to receive it. This course has definitely had the most meaning for me out of them all.

Jospe teaching during our field trip this December.

And last but not least, The Emergence of Biblical Israel, with Yigal Levin. I had some serious reservations about committing to his class after the first lecture. It was four hours long, more about archaeology than I'd known, the final exam was worth 60% of my grade (scary) and Yigal himself seemed to be extremely dry. The content of the class was pretty much an archaeoligcal/historical look at how the nation of Israel first came to be, and comparing that to what we know from the Bible. I decided to stick with it, and a really encouraging pep talk from my flatmate Roni got me into better spirits about taking the class. In the end, it was one of the most challenging classes I have ever taken.

Although Yigal turned out to be a really cool teacher, I went through a lot of struggle with my faith because of what he taught. He's Jewish, but he had no reservations about asserting his opinion that the Bible was not a historically accurate work of literature. His main deal was scrutinizing the conquest of Canaan (the book of Joshua) and picking apart what didn't work...which actually turns out to be a lot. To tell you the truth, that class may have fundamentally changed how I see my religion. I've talked with a lot of people over the past couple months about how much my faith has suffered from this course. The whole process has not been pretty.

The accidental architect of my faith crisis: Yigal Levin.




This is Yigal explaining an archaeological dig in Tel Aviv.

There was a point at which I had to talk to him about my problem with his class, and he responded well, encouraging me as best he could, I guess. Maybe I'll expound on this one later.

So all in all, classes were a mixed bag. There were highs and lows, but some really great teachers for each of them. I'm glad I took what I did, but right now I'm considering moving on from most, if not all of them (except Hebrew). I've spent a lot of time studying events of antiquity, and zero on Islam, so I might change things up a little bit. We'll see. Regardless, it's been a very informative semester. I'm fortunate to have such amazing opportunities here.

Shalom,
Eric

Episode 18: "The Judges, Pt. 3" (+)

At one point in Cairo, when Eric and I were alone, I told him a theory of mine. The personalities of our trio were a lot like those of the American Idol judges. Gaby was Simon: the most aggressive of the three, super confident when engaging with any strangers, and able to speak his mind with few reservations when it came to conflict. Eric was Randy: Chill, level-headed, generally assertive but never rude. That left me with Paula: nice, careful, probably too eager to cater to other people's feelings. Eric agreed.

We had two days left in Egypt. The immediate plans were to go to a place called Fayoum (spelling's off here), an oasis city outside of Cairo that the hostel manager Ramadan had recommended to us. I wasn't there when Ramadan hammered out the logistics for Eric and Gaby, but the general breakdown was this: One driver with apt English skills, one (or two) pyramids explorations, a trip to a water spring of some kind, a boat ride on the actual oasis, and food. The whole thing was looking pretty fly. It also looked like we'd be home in time to make our dinner date with a friend we'd met on the street who sold cigarettes; we said we'd break fast with him in the evening.

In the morning we were picked up by our driver, an old guy who spoke next to zero English, but he seemed really nice. After maybe an hour or so of driving, we found ourselves completely cut off from anything looking like the metropolis of Cairo. We're talking farmland, donkeys, trees, river water, small houses, and the rest of the usual suspects of rurality. The outline of our pyramid appeared in a foggy haze behind the trees, mounted on desert sand. Once we got closer to the pyramid, it was strange to see the green of Fayoum suddenly cut off and give way to nothing but dust. By then we were up close and personal with our prize, just one of many sights to behold on our trip thus far:

It's been so long since the trip that I forget the exact details about this pyramid. Definitely pre-smooth pyramids, as you can see--another "prototype" before the Egyptians really got rolling. Part of the pyramid is caving in now from a faulty infrastructure, but nothing I ever built has lasted as long as this pyramid has, so I won't nitpick. The inside was pretty cool. We descended a long tunnel, climbed a ladder and chilled for a sec inside a barren room.

By the time our guide led us back out, he expected a tip. We were pretty used to people asking for them wherever we went, so we gave him one. The security guy standing outside the pyramid entrance asked us for a tip, too. I can't remember if we gave him anything, but I distinctly remember feeling that he hadn't done anything to deserve one. We checked out a tomb nearby, in which we had to crawl to get to our destination--another pretty barren room, but an interesting tomb nonetheless.

Afterward, our driver took us through desert country. Soon, a bunch of Egyptian officers in a police truck showed up next to our car. One of the officers got out and discussed something in Arabic with our driver. Some kind of agreement had been made, it seemed, although the three of us had no idea what it was. The police pulled ahead of us and we began to follow them. Maybe after a half hour, forty-five minutes, the guys started to get a little worried. Any assumptions we could have made about a friendly police escort were fading away. Once, our driver stopped the car and yelled "emshee", the Arabic version of "go away", to the police officers. But they didn't leave. Instead, they seemed to be driving us in circles. Even when we entered the city of Fayoum, our path had no sense of coherence. All the while we could see the police officers smiling at us from their truck. It seemed increasingly possible that we were being harassed. We tried to ask the driver what was going on, but his English was so poor that we couldn't understand him.

Emotionally, things began to escalate. Gaby wanted to get cracking immediately on our options. He called home while Eric looked up a number for the Israeli consulate. I was in a different place altogether, for a couple reasons. 1) As a personality trait in general, I get pretty removed from the danger of an unstable situation. A falling tree limb landing right beside me, a speeding car almost hitting me (true stories both)--for some reason don't make my heart speed up. So that numbness was there. 2) We had been on the road a long time with the police, but I just wasn't getting the vibe that they were trying to do us any harm. It wasn't necessarily a smarter or more effective role to play, but I was not down for freaking out. I tried my best to keep myself involved in the process for the guys' sake while never really feeling that sharper edge in my attitude. Whether that calm was an asset or a hindrance to our group was still up in the air.

We stopped once, and the police stopped maybe 50 yards ahead, backed up, and parked behind us. The driver told Gaby to get out and come with him inside a store to pick up some food, leaving Eric and I in the back seat. We gave the consulate a couple of tries on the phone, with no success. After a while I got restless. I told Eric I was getting out to join the guys in the store and that he should come. He hesitated: We had no idea what kind of situation we were in. The police had been tailing us or leading us for at least an hour. I told him it was still fine to get out of the car for two minutes, but I saw a real strain in his face after I did. I wasn't making this ridiculous situation any easier for him, so I stayed put. Eventually Gaby and the driver came back with food. We were off again, the police in tow.

The driver stopped us again at some place we didn't recognize. A gate with two booths on either side, Egyptian security in both places. By now I was pretty frustrated, wanted the guys to calm down, and wanted to step up a little since Eric and Gaby had been doing it so much all trip. I got out of the car walked up to one of the booths for help, but no dice--the guy didn't speak English. Eric and Gaby joined me for the second booth, but the guys inside that one couldn't help us either. I think somewhere in all this we figured out that we had stopped at the water springs Ramadan had promised us. Whatever the case, it didn't matter. By now the police had officially ruined our trip. Eric and Gaby had already started talking about how they wanted their money back from Ramadan. We got back into the car and the driver took us to our final destination:

Lake Qarun. The Oasis.

...Where things, poetically enough, calmed down. Ramadan had been right about the looks of the place: absolutely gorgeous. The water was blue, chill, extremely calm. There was a restaurant on the lake that Ramadan had promised. No one else was there, which probably helped calm things down even more. The sun was shining, our waitress was nice, and there was an element of pause that hadn't been there before. Of course, the police were still parked nearby, but for the moment we had a breather.

As we waited for our food to come, Gaby called Ula (spelling, again, horribly off), a friend of ours from the hostel in Dahab. After Ula spoke in Arabic with our driver, the phone went back to Gaby. Eric and I watched as Gaby's entire demeanor changed. "Ohhhh," Gaby said, finally breaking out into a smile. That's the Gaby I know. Seeing him unhappy is pretty weak, and whatever Ula was explaining to him, I was relieved it was good news.

Gaby hung up and relayed the details. Turned out Egyptian police were required by law to escort American tourists (outside of Cairo, I guess). The fact that the police had been tagging on was a good thing. They had been taking us to our tourist spots to ensure our safety. After the three of us laughed about it for a sec, I said to Gaby, "You still want your money back?" Without missing a beat, he said yes, and explained why. In his opinion (and Eric agreed), Ramadan had not given us our money's worth. Instead of providing us with someone who was a good English speaker as promised, Ramadan had actually put us in harm's way by giving us a driver who couldn't communicate with us. Our enjoyment of the trip had actually depended on this guy being able to relay simple details, and Gaby believed it was irresponsible of Ramadan to leave us in a semi-dangerous situation with no solid reference points. So he and Eric decided they were going to talk to Ramadan once we got back home.

And you guys know me. I was [enter self-deprecating statement about being too passive here].

The food was all right, but the boat ride in the lake stole the show. Just beforehand, though, Gaby got into a bit of a toughie with the guy who told us the price for the boat ride. Our driver had told Gaby it was too expensive, so Gaby went with it. Thing was, I was already in the boat, our rower was ready to go, and Gaby was still up for negotiating. The combination of Gaby's usual discontentment with price figures and the fact we had just been through so much drama with the police car was making me impatient. Just when things hit their peak though, somehow we worked out an agreement, Gaby got into the boat with Eric and I, and we were off.

There were about fifteen minutes of peace and quiet. I really, really liked it.

The water.

Our rower.

Back at the hostel, I collapsed on my bed. The three of us had had a kind of dinner appointment with a guy we met on the street, but I was too exhausted to go. Let me back up for a second. He was a guy we had seen every other day we'd been at the hostel, selling cigarettes nearby on the sidewalk. His name, I'm not sure of. The previous day, he saw the three of us and told us that we should meet him for Ramadan break fast next time. The guy was a little sketch, and we weren't so sure of his mental condition, but he really did seem nice enough. We all agreed to meet him for dinner. So you can imagine my guilt when I woke up from my half-nap, too late for dinner with him. I hustled downstairs and found the guy in his usual spot...you know what? I'm tired of not using a name. We're gonna call him the Marlboro Man, on account of the cigarettes. MM. M&M. Eminem. Done.

I met Eminem at his stand and told him that I was sorry we couldn't make it that evening. He looked slightly disappointed, but he said that he wanted us to come the next day. I considered it a deal.

And now, the moment you've been waiting for. The sit-down talk with Ramadan about giving our money back. The three of us sat across from him, no one else in the lobby, boys versus man, high noon, Clint Eastwood music, minus the last two. We tried explaining what happened diplomatically, but Ramadan pretty much told us to cut to the chase. I guess things really got cracking when Gaby said, "You lied to us!" Physical finger-pointing, raised voice, the works. And of course the "lie" being that Ramadan had promised us a good English speaker. Ramadan didn't yell back or anything, but things were certainly tense in the room. Gaby turned on the verbal afterburners, Eric wasn't far behind him, and I watched as Ramadan stiffened. After a while, I stepped in. Here's some paraphrasing:

"Ramadan, we're not saying that you ripped us off. The previous two days have been amazing. But my friends were scared during our trip today, and that's not what they paid for." Or something like that. Sprinkle in a few more compliments about how great he had treated us beforehand (no BS). And all of a sudden Ramadan was saying, "What this man [me] is saying is fair. I'll do whatever this man says."

As nice as that may sound, there were two essential problems. The first was that Ramadan was counting on me not asking him for full reimbursement. The second was that I was suddenly in a position I wasn't ready for. I was proud that I had calmed things down and steered the discussion in a reconciliatory direction, but that hadn't really changed the basics. My friends still wanted their money back. Ramadan still thought he was being cheated out of it. In the end I didn't really do much other than clarify why Eric and Gaby were so pissed off. Ramadan gave us back enough money to cover the meal at the restaurant (which was part of the original deal anyway), and that was it. Gaby agreed to it (and later discovered it was less money than he'd heard), Eric went with it presumably because the discussion wasn't going any further, and I was just looking for some shalom. We strongly suggested that Ramadan let other Americans know exactly what the circumstances were with similar trips. He said he would. Crisis averted. Ish.

Later, Eric said he had definitely seen our American Idol judges all come out during the Ramadan thing. He also seemed disappointed that we hadn't gotten our money back. I kind of felt bad about that one, since I had taken the lead straight into No-Reimbursement-Ville.

At night the three of us went out to the main market. I let myself get ripped off by a couple of people while Gaby and Eric kicked some serious bargain booty. One time, some guy sweet talked me with how much he knew about my hometown as I pondered over a souvenir to buy for family/friends. I knew he ripped me off a bit, so I weakly kind of pleaded a bargain, and he budged. Emasculation at its best. Later on, Gaby came back to the same guy while I was there. He bargained over some object he only half-cared about, but seemed to have fun fighting for. At one point, the salesman told Gaby he'd give him a certain price, because he bought it for that price. Gaby asked him why he would sell it to him if there was no profit...basically calling him on his crap. Two minutes later the guy folded and Gaby walked away with a new souvenir for a great price. I remember feeling pretty embittered in knowing that I had, in fact, been played by this salesman--which was made more than clear when Gaby handled his business.

Toward the conclusion of our time in the market, I split off from the guys for a second and went inside a mosque. It was beautiful inside, green carpet, bowing men, sacred air. I had no idea what I was doing, but I decided I wanted to pray like I saw the Muslims were. I kneeled and bowed my own head, whispering words to God. After a bit, I walked into a room that I saw people trickling into. I passed a couple guys at the entrance, hoped the didn't stop me (they didn't), and saw something strange in front of me. Inside a giant glass case in the middle of the room, was a large black box. A tomb of some sort? I wasn't sure. People had formed a ring around the protective banister, praying to/about this thing, reaching their hands toward it. I circled it and sat down, looking through a Koran, glancing up at the people near the black box. There was a desperate faith in the atmosphere as people revered that thing, and I was sad that I couldn't understand what was happening.

Outside, some guy pressured me into buying two small bottles of anointing oil. Retrospect says I should not have paid ten Egyptian pounds for them.

The next day, we decided to play it cool, take it easy. We shamelessly walked into American restaurants, where I got a Phili cheese steak and the guys got something from Pizza Hut. I was getting somewhat impatient with Egypt, and I guess this was my way of saying a kind of peace out to the cultural experience. Afterward, walking toward the Nile, Eric and Gaby started talking about personal stuff Eric was dealing with, in a slightly hushed tone. I definitely got the vibe the matter was private. Kept ahead of them. On top of the backseat role I had taken all trip, the nights I chose to turn in early while they went out to get drinks, etcetera...this 2 + 1 walk toward the Nile didn't feel too good either. I knew it wasn't intentional. Still, the separation I was feeling just then kind of tainted the morning.

Anyway, when we reached the Nile, one of the boatmen came toward us. He said a price, and as usual, I was hesitant, and Gaby wrestled a cheap price out of him.

"I don't know what I'd do without you guys," I said.

Eric, capturing the moment.

The Nile. Pretty dirty up close.

But still money on the whole.

Afterward, Gaby had to pee. So we all walked into a hotel like we were staying there and hijacked their bathroom. After we were done, we met met someone just outside the hotel. It was a short, older guy--whose name was Max, I think--who began talking to us. He asked the usual small talk questions and threw a few gold nuggets into the convo: 1) His daughter was getting married tomorrow. 2) He was a renowned artist in Cairo. 3) He wanted us to have the equivalent of tea time with him in his shop. I was pretty taken by Max's amiability and hospitality. The three of us went to his papyrus shop, where he arranged chairs for us. His daughter was there, helping out with the shop.

I congratulated her. She gave a somewhat meek thank you.

Before the drinks came, Max had us look at his papyrus work. It became extremely clear, very fast, what Max had done. While I had thought that he had genuinely wanted to drink some tea with strangers, he had only been pulling us in to sell us papyrus. Maybe that was obvious to all of you worldly-wise folks out there. I, for one, hadn't seen it coming...although there had been so many similar circumstances beforehand that I probably should have known better.

Max was pretty persistent about selling us his work. I tried to make it clear to him that I wasn't buying anything, but he wasn't having it. Eric showed a vague interest in buying something, which encouraged Max more. After maybe fifteen minutes of Max's slightly aggressive tactics, I'd had enough. "I don't want to waste your time," I said slowly, repeating again that I wasn't interested. Eventually Eric decided not to buy anything either, so the three of us split. The chipper tone to Max's voice had gone completely flat by the time it was time to say goodbye. As we walked away from the shop, we noticed Max come out of the store again. It looked like he was waiting for someone new to come by, to give them the same routine.

Eric threw it out there that his daughter probably wasn't even getting married.

We caught a cab to the Mohammed Ali Mosque, or "the citadel." Biggest mosque in Cairo, if not Egypt--I can't remember. Unfortunately, the mosque closed by the time we got there. It was, however, pretty to look at from the outside.

Another shot I stole from Eric.

Just assume all the good ones are his.

We did have one, last hope about closing out the day. Gaby's friend Georgia suggested that we try to find a spot near the mosque where we could sit and here the Muslim call to prayer among all the citadels of the city. The prospect seemed beautiful enough to shoot for. We went walking around the block, trying to find the place Georgia had described.

It was looking pretty bleak when we ran into a stranger on the street. Young guy, great English, extremely nice. I guess he saw that I didn't know where I was going, and out of apparent friendliness he asked me the "African question." So silly: if anyone asked me if I was African in the States, our conversation would end very, very quickly. But, like in Dahab, being asked here really felt good. Anyway, I told him what our deal was. He gave us some pointers on what mosque was open, and the three of us were really appreciative. Out of nowhere, it seemed, he said he could lead us there by foot, but that we just didn't have that much time. He introduced himself as Omar (or something close). We followed him toward this new mosque, where he promised a view from the rooftop that would dazzle.

Omar was making a great impression on us the entire time. He made conversation with us the entire way through a maze of alleyways, smiling a lot. He kept repeating that he was not like other Egyptians, who were just trying to get money from us. He assured us that he was just being hospitable. On top of the favor he was doing us now, he also offered to have us over for break fast. It sounded awesome, but I remembered that we had promised Eminem that we would break the fast with him that evening. I tried to explain to Omar that we had prior plans. Eric and Gaby did not back me up.

I tried to level with both of them while Omar was ahead. The two of them weren't quite with me. Admittedly, I guess I was kind of swept off my feet by this Omar guy, too. He was promising his mother's fantastic cooking, guiding us to this mosque out of some altruistic duty, and just being pleasant company in general. I couldn't shake the promise to Eminem, though. I gave Eric a WTF look and later on probably said something like, "I'm going home, you guys can stay." It wasn't that I didn't want to go with this new stranger, it was that I wasn't down for going against my word. Eric and Gaby countered: while I had crashed in my room the previous day, they had checked around for Eminem at dinner time. He hadn't been around. Bottom line: I was trying to make up for missing dinner with Eminem, while the guys didn't think he was reliable anyway.

The Eric Glover Line of Reasoning: Didn't matter. Your word is your word.

Omar led us into a mosque that was in a residential neighborhood. We took off our shoes and followed him across the carpet and to a small room on the side of the building. Inside, Omar talked to us about donating to the mosque in order to help out a charitable fund of theirs. Apparently, an earthquake that had struck the neighborhood (years ago) was still having some affect on the residential area's children. Of course, there was some confusion given the language barrier--all we really got out of it was that it was "for the children," without any real details as to how it would help them. Omar had brought us into the side room because that's where the donation box was. Two men, seemingly out of nowhere, appeared on either side of our trio, asking us to to donate. Verbally, the pressure was mounting. For each of us, freely donating was not a problem. But Omar hadn't made it clear that it was a requirement for seeing the rooftop. Plus, these guys were asking for a fixed donation minimum that was far above "easy giving." Eric and I managed to bail on the obligation, but once those guys figured out Gaby had shekels they would not stop pressuring him until he coughed up the money. After that, they backed off.

Omar showed us the way to the staircase. The three of us went up to the rooftop, where we could see the sun setting over the neighborhood.

Gaby walked off across the rooftop, silent. I would have gone to comfort him had I not been pissed off myself. I was done with Egypt. I was tired of the manipulation behind engaging us as tourists. Omar had seemed like an exception, but he was just another shark--one who had cost Gaby a lot of money. I was disgusted, disappointed, and ready to leave.

Eric picked up on how I was feeling, asking me what was up.

"They always want something," I said.

After Omar had swindled Gaby's money, we left without taking his break fast invitation. Gaby didn't talk during the entire ride back.

When we were dropped off at the hostel, we checked to see if Eminem had food ready for us, like I'd hoped. He had completely forgotten.

Later, in our hostel room, Eric could tell I was pretty bummed and checked on me again. I remember really appreciating that. Out of all the crap that had happened that day, it felt good to have him ask what was up.

We went out later, got some mediocre dinner of our own, and contemplated seeing an American movie, which never worked out. The next day we woke up early and our friend Shaggy helped us get out to our minibus on time.

It felt so good to come back to Israel. As we ate at a restaurant in Eilat, the sudden reinsertion into Hebrew was a welcome change. I thought I knew so little Hebrew, but being back around the language felt so much more familiar than it had before, compared to Arabic. And coming back to the dorm, seeing my roommates--it felt safe and exciting to see them all again. It felt like home.

I wish I could tell you guys a slightly sweeter ending to the whole Egypt trip. But the truth is, the place left a bitter taste in my mouth. I look back on the experience with mixed feelings. Not only because I was absolutely sick of how people treated us, but because I saw that there was a ton of room for improvement in the Eric Glover department. On the other hand, I was so happy to have seen everything I did, and to share that experience with Eric and Gaby. The two of them are great guys, and I learned a lot from them during the trip. Eventually, I hope to put what I've learned to use.

Let's hope it doesn't take too long.

Shalom,
Eric