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

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