This is going to sound like a bad day -- but it wasn’t a bad day. It was a crazy day, a day that we’ll probably talk about in amazement for a long time to come.
Out here with the Great Pyramids across the street, we are not really staying in Cairo proper. We’re in Giza, and it’s not near or convenient to many other Cairo sights. It’s not a problem for us -- taxis are everywhere and very inexpensive. We’ve read great things about the Cairo metro, and there is a stop in Giza, so we thought we’d use it to get in and out of town. It turns out the metro stop is quite far away, but a cab ride to the metro is still much shorter and less expensive than going all the way to the Egyptian Museum or Tahrir Square by taxi.
When we told our hosts we would take the metro, they went nuts. “Subway?! No, you cannot do that! That is crazy!” We wondered, had we read the guidebook wrong? But no, Lonely Planet highly recommends the Cairo metro. We also found some great posts like this one: Nine Things You Should Know About The Cairo Metro. Then we realized our hosts are suburban guys who drive or take taxis everywhere. They’ve never been on the subway! So we told them, no, we checked it out, and we are going to do it. They thought we were very adventurous -- which I find a bit hilarious.
Today is Friday, the day most people have off from work and spend with their families. We had a leisurely breakfast and walked over to the entrance gates of the Pyramids. There were throngs of people, all appearing to be local, all queuing up to go in. I find it interesting to see, in one family or group of friends, women wearing hijabs, women wearing niqabs, and women without their heads covered. I also see some women wearing their hijabs a bit farther back on their heads with some hair showing, which (I have been told by some Canadian friends) is a bit more relaxed.
We got a cab to the Giza metro station easily enough. Subway tickets are 1 LE each, the equivalent of $0.07 Canadian. The stations are clean, the signage is excellent, and the platforms are wide and well lit. We jumped on a car right away. Only then did I start looking around, and realized Allan was the only adult male in the train car. In the post linked above, we learned that a few cars are reserved for women only. At the next stop, two women got on, said something to each other, then one said to me, “Ladies only”. I nodded, we jumped off, and waited for the next train, which came in less than five minutes. On the platform, I kicked myself for not being able to pull the Arabic “I’m sorry” out of my brain fast enough.
On the next train, there were a few women with families, but mostly men. I noticed for the first time that no one is in short sleeves in public, neither men nor women. I was glad to be wearing the black flyaway sweater -- the only long sleeves I brought -- over my standard brightly coloured tee.
Our plan was to see the big souk -- the market, or bazaar -- and along the way see some old Islamic architecture, find a cafe, and wander a bit. Three things you have to know for this to make sense. Caireans rarely use maps. It is extremely difficult to find a map of the city. Since we knew this in advance, Allan made good use of the small maps in the guide book and maps online. However -- the second thing to know -- there are very few street signs. You see them occasionally -- erratically. And third, it is Friday -- market day.
We came out of the metro stop and couldn’t get oriented, because there were no street signs. I said min fadlik -- excuse me, to a female -- to a passing woman, and she looked right through me, not exactly filling me with confidence. I tried again with another woman, saying in Arabic, “Excuse me, where is the Khan Al-Khalili market? Is it near here?” She looked bemused but helped me. She talked fast and used too many words for my vocabulary, but she did gesture in a direction, and she repeated the name of a street several times. I thanked her and off we went.
We walked up a narrow sidewalk with stores and stalls on one side and insane traffic on the other. There were people selling everything you can possibly imagine -- ordinary, everyday items, not stuff for tourists -- and all of them seemed to be yelling prices and hawking their wares. Some have recordings blasting: khamsa! khamsa! khamsa! (five, five, five). The tables are often blocking most of the sidewalk, forcing everyone into the street, where cars and buses are constantly honking in a giant snarl of traffic (which is the case at all times on all streets).
And people. People, people, people. Imagine everyone in Times Square all trying to walk on a tiny bit of sidewalk in both directions. I’ve seen nothing in Canada that I can compare this to. The closest thing I’ve seen is in our old neighbourhood in Washington Heights -- West 181st Street, but on steroids. It was so crazy. And little did we know, as the saying goes, you ain’t seen nothing yet.
At some point, we started to see smaller streets that were pedestrian only, coming off this main crazy street we were on. We took one just to get out of the crush. From there we wandered a bit, seeing stalls selling hookahs, jewellery, scarves, galabiyas, and on and on. We also saw some archways or street entrances that were obviously very old, a very old mosque, some obviously historic buildings. Here’s what we didn’t know: most people weren’t out yet.
Soon after we got there, stalls starting closing up and the streets became much emptier. I remembered our host mentioning Friday midday prayers, and I assumed that’s what was happening. We wandered more, took some photos. I bought a scarf, clearly paying too much, but when the guy lowered the price, he said, “But you give me something, too.” “I give you...?” “Yes, you give me a present, any little thing, I will give it to my daughter.” I looked in my backpack and pulled out a pink CUPE pen. “This is for your daughter.” He liked that... and said, “But I have a son, too.” Amazing. I gave him a black pen, hoping it was the one that wasn’t working. It was pretty funny.
Then it started to get busier. And busier. And busier. The narrow street was becoming impassable. We could see there was an open area ahead, probably a big square. We thought, let’s go there and re-group. Oh boy. There was packed. Hundreds of men and boys were streaming out of a mosque, into the already full square. We were in a crush. We saw a narrow side street, and jumped into it.
This street was fairly empty and quiet-ish. Men hawking items in their stalls would recognize tourists and call out: “Smile! Do you want to buy?” or amusing things like “Let me take your money!” or “Scarf for one million dollars! No? OK, five thousand!” If there were other tourists around, I didn’t see them.
Allan knew of a very old, historic cafe in the area that he really wants to find. (We may yet find it, with the help of a guide.) It has no street address, and I felt it was a bit needle-in-haystack or random chance, but who knows, we might stumble on it. Now we don’t know how this happened, but we found ourselves in a complete human crush. Imagine a narrow cobblestone street, small cubicles of stores on either side, but every store has an outer stall sticking out into the street. All the salespeople are yelling, and some have those recordings going. And down a tiny, narrow center lane, all the people in Times Square are moving -- in both directions.
You will think that I am exaggerating, and yet no matter what I write, it is understatement. We were absolutely crushed from all sides. Every so often a space would open up, perhaps a stall was closing up or momentarily empty. We jump aside and just stand there catching our breath, then steel ourselves to re-join the human river.
Being short, I sometimes find crowds very unpleasant, but I am not afraid of crowds. However, I am terrified of being separated from Allan and not knowing where he is. We once lost track of each other in The Strand, a big used bookstore in New York. When we found each other, I was so shook up, I burst into tears and couldn’t stop crying. Today, in that market, I found it impossible to walk ahead of Allan unless I put my hand in back of me and he held it, or even just linked fingers. I felt more comfortable with him walking ahead of me, and me holding on to the strap of the camera bag. Because, oh yeah, we have the camera bag and a backpack with us. But if Allan’s ahead of me, then people are behind me, and they are too close, and it’s giving me the creeps.
This went on for blocks and blocks and blocks. There were so many people. Every so often someone would be pushing a hand-truck or wheelbarrow loaded with bales through the crowd, so everyone had to somehow move over to let him pass. And every once in a while, a young man would pass carrying a tray like a waiter, with a coffee or a bottle of water and a glass. We had no idea where they came from or where they were going.
The stores we were passing were mostly the same, and total overkill. Walls of scarves and galabeyas. Mountains of cheap plastic beads. Socks, sheets, towels, shirts, pants, shoes, bras, slippers. I cannot imagine actually shopping in this environment.
In one of our momentary breathers, we both said, this is quite an experience, something we’ve never seen before -- and now we’ve had enough, can we get out of here, please?
After maybe 30 minutes of this, I looked ahead and saw a bus drive by. That meant we were headed to a main street! It gave us hope. We slogged onwards, and finally, Allah be praised, we were out.
We just stood there, trying to catch our breath. And where were we? We had no idea. We walked a little ways -- back to crazy honking blaring traffic on one side and shops on the other -- hoping we would see a cafe, but never did. In fact, the entire time we were in the market, we never passed one place to eat or have a cup of tea.
After a few blocks down this larger street, I had the idea of getting a cab -- to anywhere. We decided to go to Tahrir Square, just to name a place we knew, and because we knew there would be cafes and restaurants in the area. We got a cab, and all my hard-earned Arabic was wasted. I forgot all of Mango’s lovely “cultural notes” and blurted out where I wanted to go and asked how much. Only as we were driving along did I realize I should have and could have been much more polite and friendly.
But we were sitting. We were moving. It was nice.
At Midan Tahrir (Tahrir Square), we actually found a map. Although there were no street signs, Allan figured out where we might go. We stuck close to some locals to cross the traffic circle -- definitely the best approach -- and after a short walk, found Cafe Riche. It’s supposed to be a Cairo institution, although mostly frequented by ex-pats and foreigners. We were very happy to be sitting, and eating. There was space around us. Ahhh.
I had a Turkish coffee -- which I must say is something like drinking sand, and we had beer, and some nondescript food which was very wonderful. More walking, which did not please me, and we found another cafe Allan had read about, called Kunst Gallery, “books, art, coffee”. Everyone there was young and hip. More tea with mint, which I’ve discovered is very good with a touch of sugar. (I don’t normally drink anything with sugar in it.)
From there we wanted to find a metro stop, but we also wanted to get something else to eat, or at least pick up something to bring home. I was so tired of walking, and so completely sick of not knowing where we were, that I was almost ready to just take a cab all the way back to Giza. But this time when I asked a woman for directions, she was very nice, I understood her directions, and we were very nearby!
And then food appeared! A stand selling feteer, kind of like a flat bread pizza that is rolled up for easy handling. We got one of those, then smelled the unmistakably delicious smell of meat on a grill. A man was grilling koftas and kebabs, in the street, next to two tiny tables and some plastic chairs. We ordered some, and they came two kebabs and two pitas per order. We had a really hard time understanding how much they cost. It sounded like 62 LEs for two orders. This seemed like a lot of money in this context, but on the other hand, I’ve never had anyone selling street food try to rip me off, anywhere. This is my problem with a culture of haggling. I don’t want to be ripped off, but I also don’t want to insult you. Just tell me the price! If it’s worth it to me, I’ll pay it. If I can’t afford it, I’ll walk away. We were very surprised at being asked for 62 pounds for 2 orders of take-away food, but if the price was special, then everyone around the cart, including other locals buying the same food, kept their faces perfectly deadpan while they watched a bit of theatre.
The subway was indeed nearby! We hopped on a train easily, and were in Giza very quickly. Tell your friends, the Cairo metro is great. From there, we got in a cab... who was very nice, but didn’t know the way. We had the hotel business card with us, but I couldn’t find it in my backpack. The cab driver pulled over, turned off the meter and waited patiently while I looked, but in the end, we paid him, thanked him, and waited for another cab. (And yes, found the business card.) The second cab got us back to the hotel. We picked up some water and chips (more special tourist prices), then headed to the roof with our kebabs -- catching the end of the sound and light show, in French.
Today we felt like we spent a lot of money. While I was writing this, we tallied our spending for the day. Two subway rides, four long cab rides, two pashima scarves, four cups of tea and coffee, two beers, two appetizers, an entree, four kebabs, two 2-litre bottles of water and a bag of chips. Grand total: 765 Egyptian pounds, or $53.55 Canadian.
Photos of Cairo can be found here.
2.10.2017
2.09.2017
saqarra, dahshur, memphis
I had a bit of a rough night -- what am I doing drinking strong tea at night?? -- but I must be running on a travel high, because we were up and out early. Yesterday, when we asked our hosts about arranging a driver and guide for us to see more local ancient sites, they advised doing that right away, and saving more urban sightseeing in Cairo for later in the week. They quoted us a price for the whole day -- three sites, including all admission fees, plus lunch, and all gratuities. And, they said, the greatest guide. And they were right!
We had our lovely little breakfast on the roof, looking out at our friends the Pyramids and the Sphinx. While we were eating, our guide dropped by to introduce himself. He said his name was Abdul, and he wanted to make this the best day of our holiday. He told us to take our time, we had all day and he would go according to our pace.
So off we went with Abdul. First stop, a papyrus "museum", as many retail stores call themselves. A charming young man brought us drinks (Turkish coffee for me and hibiscus for Allan), then demonstrated how papyrus is made, by making some in front of us. We also learned how the imitation papyrus sold on the street is made and why it is inferior. And thus began my first lesson in shopping, Egyptian style.
Papyrus Guy showed me a small sample, with my name on it. What a coincidence! So now I know that Abdul has a deal with this shop, and possibly our hotel is in on it, too. We saw some truly beautiful painted papyri, and I started to get sucked into the idea of buying one. We’re not huge shoppers, but we always buy one really special thing on each trip, then a bunch of less expensive items like earrings, bookmarks a such. The “one nice thing” from this trip could be a beautiful papyrus painting.
When Allan and I conferred privately, I discovered I had completely misread the price of the painting. I thought it was 98.00 LE; it was 9,800 LE. That is almost $700, almost what we paid for air fare to Egypt. I apologized to Papyrus Guy, explaining what I misunderstood, and went to find another, less expensive paintings. To my surprise, Papyrus Guy was unfazed. He said, “You have a budget, and this is outside your budget.” I said, yes, well outside our budget. And suddenly the painting was 4,000 LEs! Still more than our “one nice thing” usually costs, but much closer!
And so we began negotiating. I noticed that once we got down to 3,500 or less, PG now offered to throw in other smaller paintings for free, or to not charge us tax or credit card fees. I could get more stuff, but I couldn’t get it for less than 3,200. In the end, we bought the painting I loved best, plus a smaller painting, and a third even smaller painting, for the equivalent of about $225 Canadian. This is not out of line with our handmade Aran sweaters from Ireland or our mates burilados from Peru. Buying it on the second day of our trip was disconcerting. But oh well! It was done. Papyrus Guy rolled it and wrapped it and taped it within an inch of its life, made sure Allan was still breathing, and off we went.
On our way to Saqarra, Abdul recounted the history of Egypt from the Old Kingdom to present times. He’s a good storyteller, and his English is perfect (spoken with a slight Australian accent), and it was enjoyable. He brought us all the way to Morsi, who he called “the greatest man for Egypt,” and the military coup that overthrew him.
And then we were at Saqarra. Abdul gave us these instructions: talk to no one but me, don’t even say ‘no thank you’ to anyone else, don’t take pictures of animals (because the owners will try to get money), don’t take out your money, take all the time you want, if you want photos where you are not supposed to take them, I will tell you when to shoot.
Inside, there were a few other scattered tourists and a school group, but it was mostly empty, especially compared to Giza. Everyone knew Abdul -- which would be the case all day. As we walked around Saqarra, I told him about our experience at Giza, and he was visibly upset. He said passionately, “I hate those men! I hate them. They make life so much harder for tourists, and that means harder for everyone who runs a legitimate business.” When I told him the different ways I had tried to avoid them, he said, “They love to hear ‘no’. ‘No’ is gold to them...” and I said, “Because now you are having a conversation”. Abdul put up his hand for a high-five. He said, “Say nothing. Focus and say nothing. Do not say ‘go away’. Do not say a word."
Saqarra is Egypt’s largest archeological site, and was used as a huge necropolis for almost 3,500 years. We entered through a long colonade, something that I would have thought was Greek or Roman, but amazingly, predates those column-makers by thousands of years. There is a stepped pyramid, about half the size of those at Giza (and similar to the size of the pyramids at Teotihuacan). We went behind a barrier to walk around the entire pyramid, although parts were blocked off by scaffolding and repairs.
The columns and the remains of a great hall, and of course the pyramid, were all impressive. But the highlight of the day, by far, was the hieroglyphs. I was excited to see some intact glyphs on large stones from broken walls and columns, but that was nothing compared to what was waiting for us.
We went down a passageway that was much easier than the one at Giza -- wider, better lit, more airy, empty (no other tourists), and not very deep. The clearance was low, requiring you to bend completely at the waist, but not for so long that it was uncomfortable. And the payoff: wow.
The tombs were completely covered in hieroglyphics, top to bottom and the ceilings, as well. Some retained their original colours of red or blue. There were so many, and a huge variety of symbols and pictures, more than I realized existed.
We went into many tombs like this, wall after wall of stunning hieroglyphs, many in colour, telling the stories of processions, and sacrifices, and journeys to the afterlife. Different types of birds depicted in accurate detail, water buffaloes, a cow giving birth to a calf while a crocodile waited to make it its prey. Fisherman and fishing boats hauling in baskets of fish, each detailed to represent a different kind. Processions of people leading their oxen. Symbols indicating how many of each. It was stunning. (I can see I will quickly run out of superlatives.)
You are not supposed to take photos in any of these rooms, but Abdul had already greased the palms -- and quite lightly, we were told -- so we were free to click away. Did someone say photos in a tomb? Now Allan understands why I bought our new wide-angle lens!
A few temples at Saqarra were a short drive away, and those tombs were even more richly decorated. Abdul did his thing, then told us one of the hangers-on -- more tout than actual guard -- would bring us down into the tomb. Through a similar non-scary passageway, and into a room with a sarcophagus. And the guide is telling us to go inside -- in the sarcophagus! I wouldn’t, but he practically forced Allan in! So Allan is lying in a tomb, and the tout says to me, “Do not tell Mr. Abdul! He will be angry! Do not tell him!” and he goes on and on. “Promise not to tell him? Promise?” I’m thinking, why would I not tell Abdul? And who is this guy that I should protect him? And didn’t Abdul pay off these clowns? After Allan emerged from the coffin, the tout expected to be paid. That was unsurprising, although against Abdul’s instructions.
But here’s where this tout made a big mistake. I gave him a 20 LE note, and he said, “This was very special! Very, very special! You must pay me dollars. Only dollars!” (More on this obsession with dollars later.) I told him I have no dollars, only Egyptian pounds. “I must have dollars! This is not enough!” And he went on and on, trying to badger me into giving him more money -- in other words, trying to extort me.
Outside, Abdul was waiting, and we went into a few more beautiful hieroglyphic-covered tombs. (Did someone say photos in tombs? Now Allan knows why I bought our new wide angle lens!) On our way out, I asked Abdul, did you pay those guys to let us take photos? He was immediately on guard. “Did they ask you for money??” I said, yes, but that was not a big deal. I didn't mind tipping him; it was his attitude that I objected to.
Abdul is a big man with a bald head. He looks stronger and more imposing than any of the older men hanging around the site in galabeya and kafiyeh. Abdul called out to the man in sharp barks, holding his hand out, demanding the return of the money. I said, “No, it’s ok, it’s ok,” but Abdul wouldn’t hear of it. He took the 20 LE note and berated the man for his greed and stupidity, then put it in my hand.
In the car, driving to Dahshur, Abdul told us his philosophy of service. He feels very strongly that part of his job is to protect his clients from unwanted attention, and to make sure there are no hidden costs, that the agreed-on price is the real price. Abdul pays the entrance fees, the bribes, the gas -- that is all his overhead. I understand that is taken into account in his price, but he is self-employed and takes pride in his work, and in great customer service -- something I truly respect.
At Dahshur, about 10 kms away, there are two failed pyramids -- one built at a weird angle, and another that is falling apart (relatively speaking). From there, you can see the stepped pyramid at Saqarra. Dahshur is just a quick stop.
Memphis, the long-time capital of ancient Egypt, houses an outdoor museum with many statues and pieces of statues. The highlights are a Sphinx for Queen Hatsupshet, the only female pharaoh, and a monumental statue of Ramses II, lying horizontally in a room, with a gallery for better viewing. It is enormous, and carved out of a single block of limestone. Here, too, and on the way -- everyone knew Abdul and welcomed him like the return of a conquering hero.
On the drives between sites, we passed through tiny main streets, with poor-looking stores and a few cafes. We also passed shocks of bright-green fields, growing alfalfa, the occasional man on a donkey cart, children in school uniforms, boys leading horses. There was a lot of garbage. And many scavengers -- dogs, children, old people.
We went to a huge, simple restaurant. I knew that Abdul had called ahead -- I can understand enough Arabic to get that -- so our lunch arrived moments after we did. Abdul told us he would give us privacy and disappeared. First came tahini, hummus, baba ganoush, and grilled eggplant, and of course puffy bread. Then came plates of grill chicken, koftas, and chicken livers. We were quite hungry and the food was so good.
On the way back, we drove through a lot of poverty. There’s a huge amount of garbage, which is obviously connected to the absence of healthy drinking water. Perhaps that’s the first great divide of a world of haves and have-nots -- access to sanitation and drinkable water.
We were almost back at the Pyramids View when Abdul told us he’d be back in “an Egyptian minute”. (He said this is like 30 Canadian minutes.) He popped in to a store, and soon came out with a wrapped take-out container, urging us to eat a bit now, and save the rest for later. It was an Egyptian desert called kunefah, and it is awesome. It’s something like baklava, but substitute tiny shredded wheat noodles instead of phyllo leaves, and add shredded coconut. If you like honey and coconut, you’ve got to eat this.
Back at Pyramids View, we had to reserve our overnight train from Cairo to Luxor. We tried numerous times to do this online, but it was impossible. Literally impossible. There is the appearance of a website, but it simply does not function. Emailing for support is useless. Anyone posting on Trip Advisor or Lonely Planet forums confirms this. We figured we would do this while in Cairo, and our hosts are happy to help. However...
It became a bit complicated. The hosts offered to send someone to the station with copies of our passports and money, to buy tickets for us. But we can’t pay in cash; for large purchases like that, we need to use a credit card. We thought we could do that tomorrow while sightseeing in Cairo, but today would be the last day to reserve for a Sunday night train. After some discussion, our hosts called the train station, confirmed that we can pay by credit card there, and sent us in a cab. The cab would wait while we bought the tickets, and then drive us back.
The traffic was crazy, but in some places the road was relatively open, so we were back to the crazy races between cars, vans, tiny two-person cab scooters, motorcycles and horsecarts. At the train station, the “sleeping car train” office took our reservation with a pen and paper. There was no computer. Aaand... cash only. Fortunately there was an ATM nearby. Factoid: the ticket agent has a sister in Toronto. She is a doctor. He loves Canada -- in the summer.
The ride back was quick. We saw a lot of dogs, who must come out in the evening to forage. We saw a family of five riding one motorbike -- two small kids squeezed up front with dad, and mom and baby riding on the back -- the baby in a blanket, held in the crook of the mother’s arm, off to the side of the bike. We saw a lot of sad things. When I see these things, I rage inside about the injustice of capitalism. All these things are preventable.
Back at the hotel, we were tired but happy. We couldn't thank Abdul enough, and hoped we tipped him appropriately. It's so hard to know!
Yesterday we couldn’t see Diego on the webcam -- the dogs were out, but he was not there, prompting Allan to email Dogtopia. They said he’s doing great, and tonight we saw him.
The whole time I’ve been writing this, the sound and light show of the Pyramids has been going full-tilt, over and over, in three or four different languages.
Photos from Saqarra, Dahshur, and Memphis are here.
We had our lovely little breakfast on the roof, looking out at our friends the Pyramids and the Sphinx. While we were eating, our guide dropped by to introduce himself. He said his name was Abdul, and he wanted to make this the best day of our holiday. He told us to take our time, we had all day and he would go according to our pace.
So off we went with Abdul. First stop, a papyrus "museum", as many retail stores call themselves. A charming young man brought us drinks (Turkish coffee for me and hibiscus for Allan), then demonstrated how papyrus is made, by making some in front of us. We also learned how the imitation papyrus sold on the street is made and why it is inferior. And thus began my first lesson in shopping, Egyptian style.
Papyrus Guy showed me a small sample, with my name on it. What a coincidence! So now I know that Abdul has a deal with this shop, and possibly our hotel is in on it, too. We saw some truly beautiful painted papyri, and I started to get sucked into the idea of buying one. We’re not huge shoppers, but we always buy one really special thing on each trip, then a bunch of less expensive items like earrings, bookmarks a such. The “one nice thing” from this trip could be a beautiful papyrus painting.
When Allan and I conferred privately, I discovered I had completely misread the price of the painting. I thought it was 98.00 LE; it was 9,800 LE. That is almost $700, almost what we paid for air fare to Egypt. I apologized to Papyrus Guy, explaining what I misunderstood, and went to find another, less expensive paintings. To my surprise, Papyrus Guy was unfazed. He said, “You have a budget, and this is outside your budget.” I said, yes, well outside our budget. And suddenly the painting was 4,000 LEs! Still more than our “one nice thing” usually costs, but much closer!
And so we began negotiating. I noticed that once we got down to 3,500 or less, PG now offered to throw in other smaller paintings for free, or to not charge us tax or credit card fees. I could get more stuff, but I couldn’t get it for less than 3,200. In the end, we bought the painting I loved best, plus a smaller painting, and a third even smaller painting, for the equivalent of about $225 Canadian. This is not out of line with our handmade Aran sweaters from Ireland or our mates burilados from Peru. Buying it on the second day of our trip was disconcerting. But oh well! It was done. Papyrus Guy rolled it and wrapped it and taped it within an inch of its life, made sure Allan was still breathing, and off we went.
On our way to Saqarra, Abdul recounted the history of Egypt from the Old Kingdom to present times. He’s a good storyteller, and his English is perfect (spoken with a slight Australian accent), and it was enjoyable. He brought us all the way to Morsi, who he called “the greatest man for Egypt,” and the military coup that overthrew him.
And then we were at Saqarra. Abdul gave us these instructions: talk to no one but me, don’t even say ‘no thank you’ to anyone else, don’t take pictures of animals (because the owners will try to get money), don’t take out your money, take all the time you want, if you want photos where you are not supposed to take them, I will tell you when to shoot.
Inside, there were a few other scattered tourists and a school group, but it was mostly empty, especially compared to Giza. Everyone knew Abdul -- which would be the case all day. As we walked around Saqarra, I told him about our experience at Giza, and he was visibly upset. He said passionately, “I hate those men! I hate them. They make life so much harder for tourists, and that means harder for everyone who runs a legitimate business.” When I told him the different ways I had tried to avoid them, he said, “They love to hear ‘no’. ‘No’ is gold to them...” and I said, “Because now you are having a conversation”. Abdul put up his hand for a high-five. He said, “Say nothing. Focus and say nothing. Do not say ‘go away’. Do not say a word."
Saqarra is Egypt’s largest archeological site, and was used as a huge necropolis for almost 3,500 years. We entered through a long colonade, something that I would have thought was Greek or Roman, but amazingly, predates those column-makers by thousands of years. There is a stepped pyramid, about half the size of those at Giza (and similar to the size of the pyramids at Teotihuacan). We went behind a barrier to walk around the entire pyramid, although parts were blocked off by scaffolding and repairs.
The columns and the remains of a great hall, and of course the pyramid, were all impressive. But the highlight of the day, by far, was the hieroglyphs. I was excited to see some intact glyphs on large stones from broken walls and columns, but that was nothing compared to what was waiting for us.
We went down a passageway that was much easier than the one at Giza -- wider, better lit, more airy, empty (no other tourists), and not very deep. The clearance was low, requiring you to bend completely at the waist, but not for so long that it was uncomfortable. And the payoff: wow.
The tombs were completely covered in hieroglyphics, top to bottom and the ceilings, as well. Some retained their original colours of red or blue. There were so many, and a huge variety of symbols and pictures, more than I realized existed.
We went into many tombs like this, wall after wall of stunning hieroglyphs, many in colour, telling the stories of processions, and sacrifices, and journeys to the afterlife. Different types of birds depicted in accurate detail, water buffaloes, a cow giving birth to a calf while a crocodile waited to make it its prey. Fisherman and fishing boats hauling in baskets of fish, each detailed to represent a different kind. Processions of people leading their oxen. Symbols indicating how many of each. It was stunning. (I can see I will quickly run out of superlatives.)
You are not supposed to take photos in any of these rooms, but Abdul had already greased the palms -- and quite lightly, we were told -- so we were free to click away. Did someone say photos in a tomb? Now Allan understands why I bought our new wide-angle lens!
A few temples at Saqarra were a short drive away, and those tombs were even more richly decorated. Abdul did his thing, then told us one of the hangers-on -- more tout than actual guard -- would bring us down into the tomb. Through a similar non-scary passageway, and into a room with a sarcophagus. And the guide is telling us to go inside -- in the sarcophagus! I wouldn’t, but he practically forced Allan in! So Allan is lying in a tomb, and the tout says to me, “Do not tell Mr. Abdul! He will be angry! Do not tell him!” and he goes on and on. “Promise not to tell him? Promise?” I’m thinking, why would I not tell Abdul? And who is this guy that I should protect him? And didn’t Abdul pay off these clowns? After Allan emerged from the coffin, the tout expected to be paid. That was unsurprising, although against Abdul’s instructions.
But here’s where this tout made a big mistake. I gave him a 20 LE note, and he said, “This was very special! Very, very special! You must pay me dollars. Only dollars!” (More on this obsession with dollars later.) I told him I have no dollars, only Egyptian pounds. “I must have dollars! This is not enough!” And he went on and on, trying to badger me into giving him more money -- in other words, trying to extort me.
Outside, Abdul was waiting, and we went into a few more beautiful hieroglyphic-covered tombs. (Did someone say photos in tombs? Now Allan knows why I bought our new wide angle lens!) On our way out, I asked Abdul, did you pay those guys to let us take photos? He was immediately on guard. “Did they ask you for money??” I said, yes, but that was not a big deal. I didn't mind tipping him; it was his attitude that I objected to.
Abdul is a big man with a bald head. He looks stronger and more imposing than any of the older men hanging around the site in galabeya and kafiyeh. Abdul called out to the man in sharp barks, holding his hand out, demanding the return of the money. I said, “No, it’s ok, it’s ok,” but Abdul wouldn’t hear of it. He took the 20 LE note and berated the man for his greed and stupidity, then put it in my hand.
In the car, driving to Dahshur, Abdul told us his philosophy of service. He feels very strongly that part of his job is to protect his clients from unwanted attention, and to make sure there are no hidden costs, that the agreed-on price is the real price. Abdul pays the entrance fees, the bribes, the gas -- that is all his overhead. I understand that is taken into account in his price, but he is self-employed and takes pride in his work, and in great customer service -- something I truly respect.
At Dahshur, about 10 kms away, there are two failed pyramids -- one built at a weird angle, and another that is falling apart (relatively speaking). From there, you can see the stepped pyramid at Saqarra. Dahshur is just a quick stop.
Memphis, the long-time capital of ancient Egypt, houses an outdoor museum with many statues and pieces of statues. The highlights are a Sphinx for Queen Hatsupshet, the only female pharaoh, and a monumental statue of Ramses II, lying horizontally in a room, with a gallery for better viewing. It is enormous, and carved out of a single block of limestone. Here, too, and on the way -- everyone knew Abdul and welcomed him like the return of a conquering hero.
On the drives between sites, we passed through tiny main streets, with poor-looking stores and a few cafes. We also passed shocks of bright-green fields, growing alfalfa, the occasional man on a donkey cart, children in school uniforms, boys leading horses. There was a lot of garbage. And many scavengers -- dogs, children, old people.
We went to a huge, simple restaurant. I knew that Abdul had called ahead -- I can understand enough Arabic to get that -- so our lunch arrived moments after we did. Abdul told us he would give us privacy and disappeared. First came tahini, hummus, baba ganoush, and grilled eggplant, and of course puffy bread. Then came plates of grill chicken, koftas, and chicken livers. We were quite hungry and the food was so good.
On the way back, we drove through a lot of poverty. There’s a huge amount of garbage, which is obviously connected to the absence of healthy drinking water. Perhaps that’s the first great divide of a world of haves and have-nots -- access to sanitation and drinkable water.
We were almost back at the Pyramids View when Abdul told us he’d be back in “an Egyptian minute”. (He said this is like 30 Canadian minutes.) He popped in to a store, and soon came out with a wrapped take-out container, urging us to eat a bit now, and save the rest for later. It was an Egyptian desert called kunefah, and it is awesome. It’s something like baklava, but substitute tiny shredded wheat noodles instead of phyllo leaves, and add shredded coconut. If you like honey and coconut, you’ve got to eat this.
Back at Pyramids View, we had to reserve our overnight train from Cairo to Luxor. We tried numerous times to do this online, but it was impossible. Literally impossible. There is the appearance of a website, but it simply does not function. Emailing for support is useless. Anyone posting on Trip Advisor or Lonely Planet forums confirms this. We figured we would do this while in Cairo, and our hosts are happy to help. However...
It became a bit complicated. The hosts offered to send someone to the station with copies of our passports and money, to buy tickets for us. But we can’t pay in cash; for large purchases like that, we need to use a credit card. We thought we could do that tomorrow while sightseeing in Cairo, but today would be the last day to reserve for a Sunday night train. After some discussion, our hosts called the train station, confirmed that we can pay by credit card there, and sent us in a cab. The cab would wait while we bought the tickets, and then drive us back.
The traffic was crazy, but in some places the road was relatively open, so we were back to the crazy races between cars, vans, tiny two-person cab scooters, motorcycles and horsecarts. At the train station, the “sleeping car train” office took our reservation with a pen and paper. There was no computer. Aaand... cash only. Fortunately there was an ATM nearby. Factoid: the ticket agent has a sister in Toronto. She is a doctor. He loves Canada -- in the summer.
The ride back was quick. We saw a lot of dogs, who must come out in the evening to forage. We saw a family of five riding one motorbike -- two small kids squeezed up front with dad, and mom and baby riding on the back -- the baby in a blanket, held in the crook of the mother’s arm, off to the side of the bike. We saw a lot of sad things. When I see these things, I rage inside about the injustice of capitalism. All these things are preventable.
Back at the hotel, we were tired but happy. We couldn't thank Abdul enough, and hoped we tipped him appropriately. It's so hard to know!
Yesterday we couldn’t see Diego on the webcam -- the dogs were out, but he was not there, prompting Allan to email Dogtopia. They said he’s doing great, and tonight we saw him.
The whole time I’ve been writing this, the sound and light show of the Pyramids has been going full-tilt, over and over, in three or four different languages.
Photos from Saqarra, Dahshur, and Memphis are here.
2.08.2017
giza
I was very pleased to have slept a full night last night. The time difference is so much easier going east. We hear the Muslim call to prayer very loudly, but I went back to sleep afterwards. Each room in this hotel is equipped with earplugs!
We had breakfast on the rooftop patio; all the seats face the pyramids the way Parisian cafes face the sidewalk. Breakfast consisted of breads, some herbed white cheese, a few hardboiled eggs, some fig pastries, plain yoghurt (really creamy and delicious) and bananas. Two highlights were halawa, a sweet made of sesame (my grandmother used to bring us this when I was a kid), and a few falafel. The falafel were delicious and different from the ones we see in North America. Here they are made from ful (fava beans). These also contained some pistachio. They were light and fluffy, and right off the skillet. I managed to get by with only two cups of coffee, half of my usual morning need. Our host has to walk downstairs for each cup. I couldn't ask him to do that more than twice!
After breakfast we headed down the street to the entrance to the Giza plateau, where the Great Pyramids and the Sphinx stand. It was a bit surreal, walking up past the Sphinx towards this crazy-huge structure, something we've seen pictures of all our lives. We've seen the pyramids in Mexico, and they are impressive and wondrous -- and these are almost twice the size.
We walked around all three pyramids. As we finished the furthest one and walked back towards the first, it had gotten considerably more crowded. The tour buses and the selfies and the screaming kids are bad enough, but it's not the crowds that grate. It's the touts. Men approach you constantly, trying to get you to buy things, or ride a camel, or ride in a horse cart, or whatever. And they do not take no for an answer. If you ignore them, they hound you. "I'm speaking to you. Do you not hear me? Most people say 'no thank you'." Then if you say "No thank you," that is taken as a sign of interest and it all starts up again. Sometimes a sharp "no thank you" will work, other times I resorted to "Please go away!" It is obnoxious, and tiring -- and it's constant. People have to earn a living. I get that. But these methods are extremely off-putting -- and for me, not at all conducive to buying!
The other thing I found difficult was the animals. Camels are adapted to the desert, and they move slowly. But are horses equipped for day-long exercise in the hot sun? They pull carts often loaded with people, and the drivers make them gallop. They appear to rest between rides, but they have no access to water and no shade. On our way out, we saw lines of horses pulling carts up and down a long hill. Some of the horses seemed strong and able, but I saw some who were really struggling. The pavement is worn smooth, and I saw one old-looking horse sliding down the hill, the cart behind it. It appeared terrified.
Before writing this, I looked for information about animal welfare or standards. I found some other travelers concerned about the welfare of the animals, and the Egyptian Society for Mercy to Animals, who endeavoured to feed starving animals when businesses were devastated from the sudden disappearance of tourism after the revolution in 2011. Other than that, I didn't see anything about standards of treatment.
So the experience at Giza alternated between breathtaking, irritating, and disturbing.
There's almost no interpretative signs, so groups have their tour guides and we used our guidebook. Allan has read a lot about the pyramids, and I studied ancient Egypt when I was writing children's nonfiction about ancient civilizations. Besides walking around the three pyramids, and the Sphinx, two other items are worth noting here.
In 1954, four huge wooden ships -- 43.6 meters (143 feet) long each -- were discovered under giant limestome blocks, buried under the sand. One ship was in more than 1200 pieces, plus miles of rope. Over a period of 13 years, one ship was re-assembled using the original materials and is on display. There's a gallery that gives an excellent view. You can also see the original pit it was buried in, and the 41 limestone blocks that guarded it, each weighing 18 tonnes. Wikipedia says that some scholars believe the ships were symbolic only, for the Pharaoh Cheops to sail to the afterlife, and others think the boats transported his funerary haul to the pyramids on the Nile flood plain. Factoid: in the boat museum, you are given canvas coverings to put over your shoes, to keep the sand out of the museum.
The other thing of note was literally a nonevent: our failure to get into the tombs. We had read that the passageways were very narrow, and that even a touch of claustrophobia would render the tombs impossible. We waited in line... only to learn there was a separate admission ticket. Then we waited in line for those tickets. Three different people told us to stand in three different lines. Then we waited in line again to enter. You cannot enter with a camera, and we were not about to leave our camera on the ground next to the ticket-taker, so we thought we'd take turns. I can handle those kinds of things better than Allan, I could give it a try and report back.
When you first enter, you're in a wide passageway, and air is circulating. (Everyone was taking pictures with their cell phones.) Soon after, there is a narrow, uphill passage. Small guide rails have been put in for your hands and feet, and you climb up at about a 20 degree angle. There is very little clearance over head, or on either side. And it's crowded. I started up, and someone a few people ahead of me started freaking out. She tried to turn around, and couldn't, and panicked even more, forcing her way backwards. I had only taken three or four steps, but it was already very hot and humid, and I was starting to sweat.
I stood in the wider part of the passage, trying to decide if it was worth it. When it was clear of people, I tried looking up the climb to see how far it went. It went a very long way. If it had been all in one direction, so you climbed in and then continued climbing out, I could have done it. But this passage wasn't built for tourists. There is one passage, and long lines of people are going both in and out. As I stood there considering my options, many people exited -- drenched in sweat. It just seemed not worth it.
Outside, I told Allan he wouldn't want to do it either, but I encouraged him to go see for himself. He came out shortly, smiling at the folly of even trying.
Although seeing the Pyramids was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, it was also a difficult one. I imagine it will be like this at every stop on the trip. Although hopefully without the animals.
We walked back to the room, our boots white with dust. We cooled off and cleaned up, then headed to a restaurant that sounded great. We hadn't eaten since breakfast, and somehow I was still doing ok at 3:30 p.m. (No idea why. Adrenalin?) Our hosts were very excited about our choice of restaurant and called a cab for us.
The restaurant, Andrea, is far off in a newly developed area called New Giza. There are billboards promoting it all over Cairo -- all in English. The restaurant was a knock-out -- a large patio of beautiful wood tables overlooking a valley, with colourful sails and sheets designed both for beauty and protection against sun and sand.
The food is simple but perfect. We had baba ganoush and tahini, then the flame-grilled chicken they are known for. And everything is eaten with this delicious fresh puffy bread. (Apparently good restaurants here all bake their own bread.) As we were eating, the patio was filling up with families and large groups. Servers went by carrying platters piled high with chicken and mountains of puffy bread.
On our way out, we saw women sitting on rugs, making the dough and sliding it in and out of brick ovens. They were colourfully dressed and obviously an attraction. They gave me a bread right out of the oven, and we took a few pictures, and tipped them. The bread... oh boy.
Then we had one of those ridiculously difficult times getting back, the kind that make you wonder why you went out in the first place. But we did make it back, in time to get our jackets (it is cold at night) and sit on the roof for the Pyramid sound and light show. You can see and hear it perfectly from the rooftop patio here.
Seeing the giant pyramids lit up against the night sky was an impressive sight. The narration was completely corny and ridiculous, with pompous music that sounded like something out of an old Hollywood newsreel. But it was lovely sitting on the roof, drinking tea and looking at the Sphinx!
* * * *
Readers may be wondering if I'm using the Arabic I've been studying. People here are speaking to us in English, and it seems pretentious and silly to reply in my beginners' Arabic. But I am understanding a lot of what I hear! That is pretty cool. I can pick out a lot of words, and I can hear the words used in context. I can tell you that Mango is as advertised: the speakers sound exactly like what I'm hearing. Maybe later in the trip I'll get to speak more? Whether or not that happens, I'm hooked on learning this language and want to continue.
Another question people will ask is about women -- how they are dressed, if they wear hijabs. Most girls over a certain age and women do wear headscarves, but some do not. Almost everyone is in modern dress. The girls look exactly like the Muslim girls in Mississauga -- jeans, sneakers, cute tops, cell phones, hijabs. We have seen a few older women wearing galabeyas, and a couple of women in niqabs. I saw more women in niqabs in Malton then I have here.
Personally I find hijabs either completely unremarkable, or pretty. In the tradition I was raised in, men cover their heads for worship, and many men cover their heads at all times. If a man with a little beanie on his head is unremarkable, then surely a woman with a scarf should be, too.
Photos of Giza can be found here.
We had breakfast on the rooftop patio; all the seats face the pyramids the way Parisian cafes face the sidewalk. Breakfast consisted of breads, some herbed white cheese, a few hardboiled eggs, some fig pastries, plain yoghurt (really creamy and delicious) and bananas. Two highlights were halawa, a sweet made of sesame (my grandmother used to bring us this when I was a kid), and a few falafel. The falafel were delicious and different from the ones we see in North America. Here they are made from ful (fava beans). These also contained some pistachio. They were light and fluffy, and right off the skillet. I managed to get by with only two cups of coffee, half of my usual morning need. Our host has to walk downstairs for each cup. I couldn't ask him to do that more than twice!
After breakfast we headed down the street to the entrance to the Giza plateau, where the Great Pyramids and the Sphinx stand. It was a bit surreal, walking up past the Sphinx towards this crazy-huge structure, something we've seen pictures of all our lives. We've seen the pyramids in Mexico, and they are impressive and wondrous -- and these are almost twice the size.
We walked around all three pyramids. As we finished the furthest one and walked back towards the first, it had gotten considerably more crowded. The tour buses and the selfies and the screaming kids are bad enough, but it's not the crowds that grate. It's the touts. Men approach you constantly, trying to get you to buy things, or ride a camel, or ride in a horse cart, or whatever. And they do not take no for an answer. If you ignore them, they hound you. "I'm speaking to you. Do you not hear me? Most people say 'no thank you'." Then if you say "No thank you," that is taken as a sign of interest and it all starts up again. Sometimes a sharp "no thank you" will work, other times I resorted to "Please go away!" It is obnoxious, and tiring -- and it's constant. People have to earn a living. I get that. But these methods are extremely off-putting -- and for me, not at all conducive to buying!
The other thing I found difficult was the animals. Camels are adapted to the desert, and they move slowly. But are horses equipped for day-long exercise in the hot sun? They pull carts often loaded with people, and the drivers make them gallop. They appear to rest between rides, but they have no access to water and no shade. On our way out, we saw lines of horses pulling carts up and down a long hill. Some of the horses seemed strong and able, but I saw some who were really struggling. The pavement is worn smooth, and I saw one old-looking horse sliding down the hill, the cart behind it. It appeared terrified.
Before writing this, I looked for information about animal welfare or standards. I found some other travelers concerned about the welfare of the animals, and the Egyptian Society for Mercy to Animals, who endeavoured to feed starving animals when businesses were devastated from the sudden disappearance of tourism after the revolution in 2011. Other than that, I didn't see anything about standards of treatment.
So the experience at Giza alternated between breathtaking, irritating, and disturbing.
There's almost no interpretative signs, so groups have their tour guides and we used our guidebook. Allan has read a lot about the pyramids, and I studied ancient Egypt when I was writing children's nonfiction about ancient civilizations. Besides walking around the three pyramids, and the Sphinx, two other items are worth noting here.
In 1954, four huge wooden ships -- 43.6 meters (143 feet) long each -- were discovered under giant limestome blocks, buried under the sand. One ship was in more than 1200 pieces, plus miles of rope. Over a period of 13 years, one ship was re-assembled using the original materials and is on display. There's a gallery that gives an excellent view. You can also see the original pit it was buried in, and the 41 limestone blocks that guarded it, each weighing 18 tonnes. Wikipedia says that some scholars believe the ships were symbolic only, for the Pharaoh Cheops to sail to the afterlife, and others think the boats transported his funerary haul to the pyramids on the Nile flood plain. Factoid: in the boat museum, you are given canvas coverings to put over your shoes, to keep the sand out of the museum.
The other thing of note was literally a nonevent: our failure to get into the tombs. We had read that the passageways were very narrow, and that even a touch of claustrophobia would render the tombs impossible. We waited in line... only to learn there was a separate admission ticket. Then we waited in line for those tickets. Three different people told us to stand in three different lines. Then we waited in line again to enter. You cannot enter with a camera, and we were not about to leave our camera on the ground next to the ticket-taker, so we thought we'd take turns. I can handle those kinds of things better than Allan, I could give it a try and report back.
When you first enter, you're in a wide passageway, and air is circulating. (Everyone was taking pictures with their cell phones.) Soon after, there is a narrow, uphill passage. Small guide rails have been put in for your hands and feet, and you climb up at about a 20 degree angle. There is very little clearance over head, or on either side. And it's crowded. I started up, and someone a few people ahead of me started freaking out. She tried to turn around, and couldn't, and panicked even more, forcing her way backwards. I had only taken three or four steps, but it was already very hot and humid, and I was starting to sweat.
I stood in the wider part of the passage, trying to decide if it was worth it. When it was clear of people, I tried looking up the climb to see how far it went. It went a very long way. If it had been all in one direction, so you climbed in and then continued climbing out, I could have done it. But this passage wasn't built for tourists. There is one passage, and long lines of people are going both in and out. As I stood there considering my options, many people exited -- drenched in sweat. It just seemed not worth it.
Outside, I told Allan he wouldn't want to do it either, but I encouraged him to go see for himself. He came out shortly, smiling at the folly of even trying.
Although seeing the Pyramids was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, it was also a difficult one. I imagine it will be like this at every stop on the trip. Although hopefully without the animals.
We walked back to the room, our boots white with dust. We cooled off and cleaned up, then headed to a restaurant that sounded great. We hadn't eaten since breakfast, and somehow I was still doing ok at 3:30 p.m. (No idea why. Adrenalin?) Our hosts were very excited about our choice of restaurant and called a cab for us.
The restaurant, Andrea, is far off in a newly developed area called New Giza. There are billboards promoting it all over Cairo -- all in English. The restaurant was a knock-out -- a large patio of beautiful wood tables overlooking a valley, with colourful sails and sheets designed both for beauty and protection against sun and sand.
The food is simple but perfect. We had baba ganoush and tahini, then the flame-grilled chicken they are known for. And everything is eaten with this delicious fresh puffy bread. (Apparently good restaurants here all bake their own bread.) As we were eating, the patio was filling up with families and large groups. Servers went by carrying platters piled high with chicken and mountains of puffy bread.
On our way out, we saw women sitting on rugs, making the dough and sliding it in and out of brick ovens. They were colourfully dressed and obviously an attraction. They gave me a bread right out of the oven, and we took a few pictures, and tipped them. The bread... oh boy.
Then we had one of those ridiculously difficult times getting back, the kind that make you wonder why you went out in the first place. But we did make it back, in time to get our jackets (it is cold at night) and sit on the roof for the Pyramid sound and light show. You can see and hear it perfectly from the rooftop patio here.
Seeing the giant pyramids lit up against the night sky was an impressive sight. The narration was completely corny and ridiculous, with pompous music that sounded like something out of an old Hollywood newsreel. But it was lovely sitting on the roof, drinking tea and looking at the Sphinx!
* * * *
Readers may be wondering if I'm using the Arabic I've been studying. People here are speaking to us in English, and it seems pretentious and silly to reply in my beginners' Arabic. But I am understanding a lot of what I hear! That is pretty cool. I can pick out a lot of words, and I can hear the words used in context. I can tell you that Mango is as advertised: the speakers sound exactly like what I'm hearing. Maybe later in the trip I'll get to speak more? Whether or not that happens, I'm hooked on learning this language and want to continue.
Another question people will ask is about women -- how they are dressed, if they wear hijabs. Most girls over a certain age and women do wear headscarves, but some do not. Almost everyone is in modern dress. The girls look exactly like the Muslim girls in Mississauga -- jeans, sneakers, cute tops, cell phones, hijabs. We have seen a few older women wearing galabeyas, and a couple of women in niqabs. I saw more women in niqabs in Malton then I have here.
Personally I find hijabs either completely unremarkable, or pretty. In the tradition I was raised in, men cover their heads for worship, and many men cover their heads at all times. If a man with a little beanie on his head is unremarkable, then surely a woman with a scarf should be, too.
Photos of Giza can be found here.
2.07.2017
cairo
Greetings from the Pyramids View Inn, Cairo, Egypt. Although I don't post photos until after we return (sometimes well after!), this is one photo you have to see now. This is the view from the window of our hotel room!
Seriously: the Pyramids of Giza and the Sphinx are immediately across from us. From our window we can see people seeming ant-size beside these mountainous structures, walking around, some on camels and horses.
So to backtrack. The flight was kind of crappy, the plane very crowded, with minimal room and not much in the way of comforts. But I prefer not to focus on those things, and not lose sight of the big picture. I don't want to become a traveler who forgets how lucky we are and can't tolerate minor discomforts. On the plus side, we flew nonstop to Cairo without delays.
It took a bit of doing to navigate the airport routine, and perhaps gave us a taste of the culture. First we waited in line at passport control, only to learn we should have purchases entry visas first. At the visa window, the staff -- smoking a cigarette, while at work! -- told us it was shift change time, could we go next door. Not another window -- a different company. That guy told us cash only, and we didn't have cash yet, so we had to get some Egyptian pounds, and start all over. It would have been funnier if we weren't so exhausted.
Passport control and customs asked us zero questions, just waved us through. And after retrieving our luggage, we saw a driver with the hotel sign, waiting for us. Yay!
And then: our first wild Egyptian cab ride. Friends who are nervous drivers and passengers, if you ever come here, you'll have to be blindfolded to avoid heart failure. The lines between lanes are only suggestions. Cars weave in and out of lanes, and between lanes, and around and through, passing and re-passing and re-re-passing, at highway speed. And our driver was answering his phone and texting most of the time! We gasped repeatedly, holding our breath as we came within a whisper of scraping cars on either side. Our driver was completely unfazed, of course. And lest you get the wrong idea, we were laughing and enjoying it.
It was a long ride, past zillions of huge blocks of apartments, and zillions of billboards in both Arabic and English. Every so often we would pass a cluster of cars and people on the shoulder, often with a large number of white transport vans. After a while we realized these were bus stops for commuters.
Once off the highway, we drove very slowly through an impoverished area. There was a lot of garbage and seemingly abandoned construction, but also many tiny cafes and food joints that were just opening for the day. We saw several people riding carts pulled by donkeys, both human and animal looking thin and tired. We saw this off and on all day -- including on the highway shoulder.
I saw a man on a traffic island stirring a huge cook pot, ready to feed people on their way to work. I was about to point this out to Allan, thinking it was a lovely sight, when he gasped and pointed. A pyramid. The Pyramid -- larger than life and visible between two buildings! We drove through some police check gates, to the hotel, with the pyramids and the Sphinx visible on the other side of the street. To quote Allan, holy shit!
It was very early, and we didn't expect our room to be ready, but our hosts carried all our things -- they wouldn't let us carry anything -- up a few flights to a small room they said we could lie down in while our room was prepared, assuring us that our real room was much nicer. We were tired and a bit cranky, and with a sleep mask on, I managed to sleep for a couple of hours.
We were woken by knocking on our door, profuse apologies, and more people moving our bags for us. A boy led us to our room, and with a practiced flourish, flung aside the curtain, revealing an unobstructed view of the Pyramids and the Sphinx.
I was desperate for a shower, so it was disappointing to discover we had no hot water. More conversations with our hosts revealed the hot water heater had been turned off, and would now need another half hour to warm up. (That is, a half hour longer than the 20 minutes we had already given it.)
The Pyramids View Inn is a bit lower budget than we usually do, the lower end of the "mid-range" scale. Our Lonely Planet guide tells us that Cairo is full of both high-end chain hotels and dingy crashes, but it can be challenging to find quality places in the middle. But the place is very clean, the hosts could not be friendlier or more helpful, and did I mention the Pyramids are right outside? It's the equivalent of about $75/night Canadian, including breakfast.
After showers and more bottled water, we asked our hosts to call us a taxi, and headed to Zamalek, a neighbourhood on an island in the Nile. Allan read that it was a great place for local eating, drinking, and people-watching. ("Allan read" will be a big theme on this trip. He's done almost all the research for the whole trip. Lucky me!) This was another long cab ride, slightly less crazy. Our driver charged 47 Egyptian Pounds (EL)... the equivalent $3.30 CAD. We did not haggle.
We quickly spotted one of the places we were looking for, a local chain with a fresh and gourmet take on traditional street food. This place -- Zööba -- was awesome. The decor, the music, the whole vibe was smart and hip but friendly and laid back. They have a huge takeout business, and they deliver, but in the middle of the small room was a long table, with pairs of people eating across from each other. We thought there was no room to sit, until one of the servers asked two women to move their bags for us. Everyone else at the table was young, female, and hip. And eating from stainless steel bowls with gusto. We were very hungry, and the menu -- in both English and Arabic -- was mouthwatering.
We ordered a bowl of koshari for each of us, and kofta and hawawshi to share. Everything was so good. Koshari is classic Egyptian street food -- a bowl of lentils, pasta, rice, and corn, in a tomato-based sauce. I had no idea what to expect, but it was totally delicious. The kofta, which is like a long meatball, very dry and flavourful, was amazing. Hawawshi is a grilled bread pocket filled with meat and ful (fava beans), with a coriander taste, similar to a meat somosa, but in freshly baked and grilled bread. We were very happy!
We asked some of the lovely young women near us about the condiments they were shaking into their koshari. One was obviously hot sauce, and the other was a lemon-garlic-olive oil dressing. After some of the women left, a large group of young men came in, very friendly and polite. It was just an awesome place at the exact time we needed it.
After eating, we walked down the Zamalek main drag, 26 of July Street. It is lined with funky shops and eateries, very obviously middle class, and everything in English. On some side streets, we passed many quiet coffee houses where people were relaxing, smoking sheesha. Lonely Planet tells us there's a coffee house and a sheesha flavour for every type and taste. I've decided that with my crazily sensitive respiratory system, I shouldn't be smoking anything. It's disappointing, as I'd like to try both the sheesha and the experience, but the idea of triggering a possible allergy or asthma attack while in Egypt is quite a deterrent.
Even in this neighbourhood among the more upscale shops, there was a lot of garbage, and random construction, and a lot of loud, noisy traffic. Kind of like the Upper West Side or Park Slope used to be! We passed a painting crew working on "scaffolding" -- sticks of raw wood lashed together with rope -- a guy standing on a rickety platform wearing no protective gear of any kind, trying to balance while rolling on paint. I could hear my union peeps all yelling "Health and Safety!" in unison. It's sad and awful that workers risk their lives like this every day, all over the world.
In the cab on the way back, the streets were even more congested and the traffic even crazier. We passed at least a dozen donkey carts walking on the highway shoulder, and once a man was driving his horse cart across at least eight lanes of snarled traffic.
Our driver wanted 100 LEs for the same trip we had paid 47 for earlier. I offered 50, and when he moaned about it, I gave him 20 more. If you're a wmtc reader, you may remember that Allan and I hate haggling of any kind ("the only good bargaining is collective bargaining"), but we are told that in certain situations here -- in the markets and in cabs -- you are expected to come back with an offer of half of what you've been asked for.
Tomorrow: the Pyramids, the Sphinx, and the rest of the Giza Plateau.
Photos from our hotel are here.
So to backtrack. The flight was kind of crappy, the plane very crowded, with minimal room and not much in the way of comforts. But I prefer not to focus on those things, and not lose sight of the big picture. I don't want to become a traveler who forgets how lucky we are and can't tolerate minor discomforts. On the plus side, we flew nonstop to Cairo without delays.
It took a bit of doing to navigate the airport routine, and perhaps gave us a taste of the culture. First we waited in line at passport control, only to learn we should have purchases entry visas first. At the visa window, the staff -- smoking a cigarette, while at work! -- told us it was shift change time, could we go next door. Not another window -- a different company. That guy told us cash only, and we didn't have cash yet, so we had to get some Egyptian pounds, and start all over. It would have been funnier if we weren't so exhausted.
Passport control and customs asked us zero questions, just waved us through. And after retrieving our luggage, we saw a driver with the hotel sign, waiting for us. Yay!
And then: our first wild Egyptian cab ride. Friends who are nervous drivers and passengers, if you ever come here, you'll have to be blindfolded to avoid heart failure. The lines between lanes are only suggestions. Cars weave in and out of lanes, and between lanes, and around and through, passing and re-passing and re-re-passing, at highway speed. And our driver was answering his phone and texting most of the time! We gasped repeatedly, holding our breath as we came within a whisper of scraping cars on either side. Our driver was completely unfazed, of course. And lest you get the wrong idea, we were laughing and enjoying it.
It was a long ride, past zillions of huge blocks of apartments, and zillions of billboards in both Arabic and English. Every so often we would pass a cluster of cars and people on the shoulder, often with a large number of white transport vans. After a while we realized these were bus stops for commuters.
Once off the highway, we drove very slowly through an impoverished area. There was a lot of garbage and seemingly abandoned construction, but also many tiny cafes and food joints that were just opening for the day. We saw several people riding carts pulled by donkeys, both human and animal looking thin and tired. We saw this off and on all day -- including on the highway shoulder.
I saw a man on a traffic island stirring a huge cook pot, ready to feed people on their way to work. I was about to point this out to Allan, thinking it was a lovely sight, when he gasped and pointed. A pyramid. The Pyramid -- larger than life and visible between two buildings! We drove through some police check gates, to the hotel, with the pyramids and the Sphinx visible on the other side of the street. To quote Allan, holy shit!
It was very early, and we didn't expect our room to be ready, but our hosts carried all our things -- they wouldn't let us carry anything -- up a few flights to a small room they said we could lie down in while our room was prepared, assuring us that our real room was much nicer. We were tired and a bit cranky, and with a sleep mask on, I managed to sleep for a couple of hours.
We were woken by knocking on our door, profuse apologies, and more people moving our bags for us. A boy led us to our room, and with a practiced flourish, flung aside the curtain, revealing an unobstructed view of the Pyramids and the Sphinx.
I was desperate for a shower, so it was disappointing to discover we had no hot water. More conversations with our hosts revealed the hot water heater had been turned off, and would now need another half hour to warm up. (That is, a half hour longer than the 20 minutes we had already given it.)
The Pyramids View Inn is a bit lower budget than we usually do, the lower end of the "mid-range" scale. Our Lonely Planet guide tells us that Cairo is full of both high-end chain hotels and dingy crashes, but it can be challenging to find quality places in the middle. But the place is very clean, the hosts could not be friendlier or more helpful, and did I mention the Pyramids are right outside? It's the equivalent of about $75/night Canadian, including breakfast.
After showers and more bottled water, we asked our hosts to call us a taxi, and headed to Zamalek, a neighbourhood on an island in the Nile. Allan read that it was a great place for local eating, drinking, and people-watching. ("Allan read" will be a big theme on this trip. He's done almost all the research for the whole trip. Lucky me!) This was another long cab ride, slightly less crazy. Our driver charged 47 Egyptian Pounds (EL)... the equivalent $3.30 CAD. We did not haggle.
We quickly spotted one of the places we were looking for, a local chain with a fresh and gourmet take on traditional street food. This place -- Zööba -- was awesome. The decor, the music, the whole vibe was smart and hip but friendly and laid back. They have a huge takeout business, and they deliver, but in the middle of the small room was a long table, with pairs of people eating across from each other. We thought there was no room to sit, until one of the servers asked two women to move their bags for us. Everyone else at the table was young, female, and hip. And eating from stainless steel bowls with gusto. We were very hungry, and the menu -- in both English and Arabic -- was mouthwatering.
We ordered a bowl of koshari for each of us, and kofta and hawawshi to share. Everything was so good. Koshari is classic Egyptian street food -- a bowl of lentils, pasta, rice, and corn, in a tomato-based sauce. I had no idea what to expect, but it was totally delicious. The kofta, which is like a long meatball, very dry and flavourful, was amazing. Hawawshi is a grilled bread pocket filled with meat and ful (fava beans), with a coriander taste, similar to a meat somosa, but in freshly baked and grilled bread. We were very happy!
We asked some of the lovely young women near us about the condiments they were shaking into their koshari. One was obviously hot sauce, and the other was a lemon-garlic-olive oil dressing. After some of the women left, a large group of young men came in, very friendly and polite. It was just an awesome place at the exact time we needed it.
After eating, we walked down the Zamalek main drag, 26 of July Street. It is lined with funky shops and eateries, very obviously middle class, and everything in English. On some side streets, we passed many quiet coffee houses where people were relaxing, smoking sheesha. Lonely Planet tells us there's a coffee house and a sheesha flavour for every type and taste. I've decided that with my crazily sensitive respiratory system, I shouldn't be smoking anything. It's disappointing, as I'd like to try both the sheesha and the experience, but the idea of triggering a possible allergy or asthma attack while in Egypt is quite a deterrent.
Even in this neighbourhood among the more upscale shops, there was a lot of garbage, and random construction, and a lot of loud, noisy traffic. Kind of like the Upper West Side or Park Slope used to be! We passed a painting crew working on "scaffolding" -- sticks of raw wood lashed together with rope -- a guy standing on a rickety platform wearing no protective gear of any kind, trying to balance while rolling on paint. I could hear my union peeps all yelling "Health and Safety!" in unison. It's sad and awful that workers risk their lives like this every day, all over the world.
In the cab on the way back, the streets were even more congested and the traffic even crazier. We passed at least a dozen donkey carts walking on the highway shoulder, and once a man was driving his horse cart across at least eight lanes of snarled traffic.
Our driver wanted 100 LEs for the same trip we had paid 47 for earlier. I offered 50, and when he moaned about it, I gave him 20 more. If you're a wmtc reader, you may remember that Allan and I hate haggling of any kind ("the only good bargaining is collective bargaining"), but we are told that in certain situations here -- in the markets and in cabs -- you are expected to come back with an offer of half of what you've been asked for.
Tomorrow: the Pyramids, the Sphinx, and the rest of the Giza Plateau.
Photos from our hotel are here.
2.03.2017
pupdate and soon off to egypt
Things are considerably calmer around here now. The three giant issues we were dealing with have all settled down. One, as much as I hate it, we've adjusted to Tala's absence. Two, we got our insurance settlement and bought a new (to us) car. And three, Diego's health has greatly improved.
Our big boy is not 100% yet, and it's disconcerting to leave him at Dogtopia before we reach that. But short of cancelling the trip, we really have no choice -- and he's not in a state one would cancel a trip for. (Trying to not do the graphic poop report thing, thus the vagueness.) We have meds and special food, and our vet is not worried -- which helps a lot.
I even managed to carve out some serious concentrated time to get both my library work and my union work completely caught up before we leave.
I'm madly practicing my Arabic! I wish I had started a few months earlier, or had gone faster at the beginning. I could really use another few weeks' worth of lessons. But maybe I'd feel that way no matter how far along I was.
I am still really enjoying both Arabic and Mango. Practicing on my lunch break using earphones, I've discovered that using Mango on a computer and browser is actually better than using it through an app on a mobile device. Not all features are available on the app. That seems like a design flaw: I'd much rather practice while relaxing on the couch than in front of a computer. Even so, Mango is terrific. I've learned so much more than I thought I would, and easily.
We leave on Monday, February 6. More soon!
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| The "new" wmtc mobile: a 2006 Kia Spectra with "only" 155,000 kms. |
I even managed to carve out some serious concentrated time to get both my library work and my union work completely caught up before we leave.
I'm madly practicing my Arabic! I wish I had started a few months earlier, or had gone faster at the beginning. I could really use another few weeks' worth of lessons. But maybe I'd feel that way no matter how far along I was.
I am still really enjoying both Arabic and Mango. Practicing on my lunch break using earphones, I've discovered that using Mango on a computer and browser is actually better than using it through an app on a mobile device. Not all features are available on the app. That seems like a design flaw: I'd much rather practice while relaxing on the couch than in front of a computer. Even so, Mango is terrific. I've learned so much more than I thought I would, and easily.
We leave on Monday, February 6. More soon!
1.30.2017
10 things you can do to fight trump-era nazism
Like all good people, I am horrified by recent developments in the US, and like everyone who has been paying attention, not surprised. I take hope from the immediate and powerful resistance that has been set in motion. But also at the resistance, I am angry, too. What took you so long? Let's hope it's not too late.
Here are a few things you can do to fight back.
1. Donate to the American Civil Liberties Union. For nearly 100 years, the ACLU has been fighting for the civil rights of people marginalized or targeted by the dominant culture. These are the people best equipped to fight back -- the best and the brightest of the resistance. Even a small one-time or monthly donation can make a difference.
2. Canadians, sign a petition calling on Prime Minister Trudeau and Minister of Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Ahmed Hussen, demanding that they repeal the so-called Safe Third Country Agreement with the United States, which would allow Canada to welcome people fleeing violence from Muslim-majority countries and/or deportation by the United States.
You've probably seen Trudeau's tweet saying that Canada welcomes those fleeing persecution "regardless of faith". Here's an opportunity for Trudeau to make good on that statement.
Currently, if an asylum seeker residing in the US tried to enter Canada to escape deportation, Canada would turn them away, based on the "Safe Third Country Agreement". Read more about it here. Please sign the petition and ask your contacts to do the same.
3. Call or email your MP and ask them to support the above. Say it is a matter of great importance to you, because this is the Canada you want to live in. You can find your MP here by postal code.
4. Attend a demonstration against Trump's order and in solidarity with those it targets. In the Toronto area, it's this Saturday, February 4, 12:30-2:30 pm, outside the US Consulate on University Avenue. In cities across the US and Canada, it will not be difficult to find a demo. When you find this community, keep in touch.
5. Send a letter of support to a mosque or Islamic cultural group in your community. A simple act of solidarity goes a long way.
6. Share facts. I'm always surprised by what people know, and what they don't know. I've learned not to assume. Share what you learn with your faith group, your union, your spin class, your online community, your Facebook contacts. (This one comes with a caveat. Social media is great for many things, but it is not actually a form of protest. It can be the drug that keeps us docile and not protesting.)
7. Write a letter to your local media outlet. These still matter. Keep it short and it's more likely to be published.
8. Pledge to register. If Muslims are ever required to register with the government, be prepared to register in solidarity. If you have doubts or fears about this, now is the time to discuss with your family and friends. Vow to yourself and to your community that you will do this. It would be very fitting if the first, say, 10,000 registrants were Jewish.
9. Delete Uber from your phone, and don't forget to tell them why in the "share details" box. On Saturday night, protesters streamed into airports around the US to protest Trump’s anti-Muslim executive order. The New York Taxi Workers Alliance posted this:
Uber did the opposite.
Lyft, Uber's principal competitor, has pledged to donate $1 million to the ACLU.
I freely admit that this is another excuse to ask people to #DeleteUber and never use them again. Their abhorrent labour practises drag precarious work into new depths. More info here.
10. Check out Bustle. They're full of great ideas.
And a bonus: 11. Don't allow yourself to get overwhelmed. Each one, reach one. Take a small action. Then another. Eat, sleep, repeat.
Here are a few things you can do to fight back.
1. Donate to the American Civil Liberties Union. For nearly 100 years, the ACLU has been fighting for the civil rights of people marginalized or targeted by the dominant culture. These are the people best equipped to fight back -- the best and the brightest of the resistance. Even a small one-time or monthly donation can make a difference.
2. Canadians, sign a petition calling on Prime Minister Trudeau and Minister of Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Ahmed Hussen, demanding that they repeal the so-called Safe Third Country Agreement with the United States, which would allow Canada to welcome people fleeing violence from Muslim-majority countries and/or deportation by the United States.
You've probably seen Trudeau's tweet saying that Canada welcomes those fleeing persecution "regardless of faith". Here's an opportunity for Trudeau to make good on that statement.
Currently, if an asylum seeker residing in the US tried to enter Canada to escape deportation, Canada would turn them away, based on the "Safe Third Country Agreement". Read more about it here. Please sign the petition and ask your contacts to do the same.
4. Attend a demonstration against Trump's order and in solidarity with those it targets. In the Toronto area, it's this Saturday, February 4, 12:30-2:30 pm, outside the US Consulate on University Avenue. In cities across the US and Canada, it will not be difficult to find a demo. When you find this community, keep in touch.
5. Send a letter of support to a mosque or Islamic cultural group in your community. A simple act of solidarity goes a long way.
6. Share facts. I'm always surprised by what people know, and what they don't know. I've learned not to assume. Share what you learn with your faith group, your union, your spin class, your online community, your Facebook contacts. (This one comes with a caveat. Social media is great for many things, but it is not actually a form of protest. It can be the drug that keeps us docile and not protesting.)
 |
| Photo montage thanks to Dave Zirin |
8. Pledge to register. If Muslims are ever required to register with the government, be prepared to register in solidarity. If you have doubts or fears about this, now is the time to discuss with your family and friends. Vow to yourself and to your community that you will do this. It would be very fitting if the first, say, 10,000 registrants were Jewish.
9. Delete Uber from your phone, and don't forget to tell them why in the "share details" box. On Saturday night, protesters streamed into airports around the US to protest Trump’s anti-Muslim executive order. The New York Taxi Workers Alliance posted this:
Uber did the opposite.
Lyft, Uber's principal competitor, has pledged to donate $1 million to the ACLU.
 |
| I heart NYC |
10. Check out Bustle. They're full of great ideas.
And a bonus: 11. Don't allow yourself to get overwhelmed. Each one, reach one. Take a small action. Then another. Eat, sleep, repeat.
1.22.2017
pupdate, pressure, and poor customer service
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| Diego at the beach |
I have been feeling very put-upon. Just before the Christmas holiday, Allan was in a car accident. He wasn't hurt, but the insurance company declared our car a total loss. Then Tala. And then Diego. Service from the insurance company was horrible, adding to the stress, and we needed to buy a car -- fast. All this while I am under a lot of pressure to get both library work and union work wrapped up before our trip. And we need a healthy dog before we leave, too!
This morning we picked up Diego from the clinic, and he is once again his happy self. A huge relief! Our vet strongly suspects inflammatory bowel disease, and is optimistic that a special diet and continuing medication will do the trick. The car saga should end tomorrow, when our friend M@ helps Allan return the rental and pick up our new (to us) car. We're bleeding money, but not for the first time, and undoubtedly not for the last time.
Two notes I wanted to share.
I have been raving about Rollover, the semi-soft dog food that we've been using as training treats. (I mentioned it here, here, and elsewhere.) We've now learned that the high fat content of this food makes it ill-advised for many dogs. Diego has been getting large quantities of this, in place of some of his regular food, for about 20 months. Our vets do not want to guilt us, but I'm sure it contributed to his current issues. If you are using Rollover, please make sure your dog can tolerate a higher-fat diet, and you might want to keep his or her regular food very low fat to balance it out.
The other note is about our insurance carrier, Aviva. Getting in an accident just before the holidays, I realize that service may be slower, and things may take a bit longer to sort out. But that excuse only goes so far. The rep assigned to our claim was unavailable for more than two weeks -- and then appeared only to tell us that we should talk to someone else. But there was no "someone else" -- our information was unavailable to other agents.
Meanwhile, the policy has a cap on the rental of a replacement vehicle. The settlement offer was unreasonably low, and we're about to be out-of-pocket for the rental, because of the agent's incompetence or unavailability. She didn't return phone calls, and when we asked questions by email, she would reply with a five-word "please call me to discuss" -- but would not return our calls. It was very frustrating, and created a lot of extra work and inconvenience for us.
Finally, Allan called the general number, asked to speak to the agent's manager, and left a message saying he was calling to complain. What a surprise, later that day, the rep called us, extended the rental, made a better offer, and mailed a cheque. I realize this may be an aberration, but I'm not so keen to deal with Aviva again.
1.18.2017
chelsea manning will be free!!!!
This is the best news I've seen in a long, long time.
Chelsea Manning, the US army soldier who became one of the most prominent whistleblowers of modern times when she exposed the nature of warfare in Iraq and Afghanistan, and who then went on to pay the price with a 35-year military prison sentence, is to be freed in May as a gift of outgoing president Barack Obama.I could post about a million more links. I'm relieved and overjoyed that Chelsea Manning will finally be free.
In the most audacious – and contentious – commutation decision to come from Obama yet, the sitting president used his constitutional power just three days before he leaves the White House to give Manning her freedom.
Manning, a transgender woman, will walk from a male military prison in Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, on 17 May, almost seven years to the day since she was arrested at a base outside Baghdad for offenses relating to the leaking of a vast trove of US state secrets to the website WikiLeaks.
Nancy Hollander, Manning’s lawyer, spoke to the Guardian before she had even had the chance to pass on to the soldier the news of her release. “Oh my God!” was Hollander’s instant response to the news which she had just heard from the White House counsel. “I cannot believe it – in 120 days she will be free and it will all be over. It’s incredible.”
. . . Human rights groups welcomed Tuesday’s decision. Margaret Huang, executive director of Amnesty International USA, said: “Chelsea Manning exposed serious abuses, and as a result her own human rights have been violated by the US government for years.
“President Obama was right to commute her sentence, but it is long overdue. It is unconscionable that she languished in prison for years while those allegedly implicated by the information she revealed still haven’t been brought to justice.”
1.08.2017
what i'm reading: four realistic youth novels
Young-adult publishers' mania for series, with the emphasis on fantasy, has finally ebbed. There are still plenty of fantasy series to go around, but the new crop of youth novels is chock full of individual titles in the realistic mode. (In YA land, "realistic" means the opposite of fantasy: set in the existing world with real humans only.)
I've recently read four such novels. I chose three of them because the titles and covers intrigued me, and one based on the author's previous novel. Here are my impressions.
Girl Mans Up by M-E Girard
On the ever-expanding LGBTQ youth bookshelf, Girl Mans Up appears to be the first book to feature a butch lesbian, and I must say it's a welcome addition. All the other female gay protagonists I'm aware of are written in the "just like everyone else, but gay" vein, people whose orientation would not be guessed if not already known. Not so for Pen.
Pen is butch and a little bit genderqueer. Her old-world European parents don't understand her. Her guy friends accept her -- as long as she conforms to their expectations. Her brother is her rock of strength and unconditional love. But in order to be fully herself, she'll have to "man up".
The best thing about Pen is that she's comfortable in her own skin. She has no doubts about her identity or gender. Her problems arise from other people's expectations or intolerance. Her problems also stem from her best friend -- who is a jerk, if only Pen can see him clearly.
One could say this is a book where nothing much happens. Life happens. Regular, ordinary, everyday life, as lived by a teen in the process of finding her place in the world. For some readers, this is enough. For me, it's a welcome change from the conveniently placed life-tragedy that yields wisdom, a staple of youth fiction. For many readers, though, it will not be enough, especially clocking in at 384 pages. One thing is certain, you will love Pen.
The Great American Whatever, by Tim Federle
Quinn, the main character of Tim Federle's first youth novel, is coping with the aftermath of his sister's death, and his mother's subsequent depression. He's also gay, and that's not a problem.
Up to now, Quinn has been hiding in his room, wrapped in his love of old movies. When his best friend Geoff convinces him to take a step forward, Quinn meets a hot guy and falls for him.
Quinn is a fun narrator, and his friendship with Geoff is more important to the story than his new crush. Not a lot happens, but enough happens to make it interesting. Things play out realistically, which I appreciate.
If you're well-versed in contemporary youth fiction, the plot, the themes, and even the voice of The Great American Whatever may seem cliched and derivative. The dead older sibling. The parent with serious depression. The parent who walked out. The wise-cracking male narrator. We know them all. But if you're new to realistic youth novels, or just can't get enough of this type of book, TGAW may seem fresh, breezy, fun, and meaningful.
What Light by Jay Asher
Jay Asher is the author of the 2007 blockbuster youth novel 13 Reasons Why, which explores a teen suicide -- its causes and its aftermath. The book, widely promoted and popular at the time of publication, is now seeing a second life with the current interest in bullying. The publisher has released a 10th anniversary edition, a rare honour in the YA world.
It would be a lot to expect Asher to live up to the promise of this earlier, but I did expect a book with some weight and significance. I was very disappointed. What Light is a sweet, fluffy Christmas romance. The characters are flat and lifeless. Thoughts, feelings, and actions are described in excruciating detail. Girls think about boys, shopping, and who gets to own the title of Best Friend.
Of course, many readers love Christmas romances, and there's no harm in that. But there is harm hiding in this snowflake of a book. Sierra falls for Caleb; Caleb has a big secret, something shocking from his past that he is afraid to share with Sierra. The secret turns out to be a violent episode, in which Caleb was completely out of control. Only because of someone else's quick thinking, the episode did not end in tragedy.
The reader is repeatedly told that this incident was a one-time event, that Caleb is a good person who only needs a second chance. I thought Caleb might be dangerous. But apparently with the love and understanding of a nice girl, the past can be left behind and everything can be forgiven.
The audience for this book is almost exclusively female, and I am concerned about what messages they will take away. No matter what's in a guy's past, if he's charming enough and really sorry, you can overlook it. Warnings from parents and friends can be ignored. And if a guy has a problem, a smart girl can fix it. Sierra is a bland, blank character brought to life by her desire to fix Caleb, throwing herself into the project almost immediately after meeting him. It disturbs me that anyone writing for youth in the 21st century thinks this is appropriate.
The Female of the Species by Mindy McGinnis
I've recently read four such novels. I chose three of them because the titles and covers intrigued me, and one based on the author's previous novel. Here are my impressions.
Girl Mans Up by M-E Girard
Pen is butch and a little bit genderqueer. Her old-world European parents don't understand her. Her guy friends accept her -- as long as she conforms to their expectations. Her brother is her rock of strength and unconditional love. But in order to be fully herself, she'll have to "man up".
The best thing about Pen is that she's comfortable in her own skin. She has no doubts about her identity or gender. Her problems arise from other people's expectations or intolerance. Her problems also stem from her best friend -- who is a jerk, if only Pen can see him clearly.
One could say this is a book where nothing much happens. Life happens. Regular, ordinary, everyday life, as lived by a teen in the process of finding her place in the world. For some readers, this is enough. For me, it's a welcome change from the conveniently placed life-tragedy that yields wisdom, a staple of youth fiction. For many readers, though, it will not be enough, especially clocking in at 384 pages. One thing is certain, you will love Pen.
Quinn, the main character of Tim Federle's first youth novel, is coping with the aftermath of his sister's death, and his mother's subsequent depression. He's also gay, and that's not a problem.
Up to now, Quinn has been hiding in his room, wrapped in his love of old movies. When his best friend Geoff convinces him to take a step forward, Quinn meets a hot guy and falls for him.
Quinn is a fun narrator, and his friendship with Geoff is more important to the story than his new crush. Not a lot happens, but enough happens to make it interesting. Things play out realistically, which I appreciate.
If you're well-versed in contemporary youth fiction, the plot, the themes, and even the voice of The Great American Whatever may seem cliched and derivative. The dead older sibling. The parent with serious depression. The parent who walked out. The wise-cracking male narrator. We know them all. But if you're new to realistic youth novels, or just can't get enough of this type of book, TGAW may seem fresh, breezy, fun, and meaningful.
Jay Asher is the author of the 2007 blockbuster youth novel 13 Reasons Why, which explores a teen suicide -- its causes and its aftermath. The book, widely promoted and popular at the time of publication, is now seeing a second life with the current interest in bullying. The publisher has released a 10th anniversary edition, a rare honour in the YA world.
It would be a lot to expect Asher to live up to the promise of this earlier, but I did expect a book with some weight and significance. I was very disappointed. What Light is a sweet, fluffy Christmas romance. The characters are flat and lifeless. Thoughts, feelings, and actions are described in excruciating detail. Girls think about boys, shopping, and who gets to own the title of Best Friend.
Of course, many readers love Christmas romances, and there's no harm in that. But there is harm hiding in this snowflake of a book. Sierra falls for Caleb; Caleb has a big secret, something shocking from his past that he is afraid to share with Sierra. The secret turns out to be a violent episode, in which Caleb was completely out of control. Only because of someone else's quick thinking, the episode did not end in tragedy.
The reader is repeatedly told that this incident was a one-time event, that Caleb is a good person who only needs a second chance. I thought Caleb might be dangerous. But apparently with the love and understanding of a nice girl, the past can be left behind and everything can be forgiven.
The audience for this book is almost exclusively female, and I am concerned about what messages they will take away. No matter what's in a guy's past, if he's charming enough and really sorry, you can overlook it. Warnings from parents and friends can be ignored. And if a guy has a problem, a smart girl can fix it. Sierra is a bland, blank character brought to life by her desire to fix Caleb, throwing herself into the project almost immediately after meeting him. It disturbs me that anyone writing for youth in the 21st century thinks this is appropriate.
I've saved the best for last. The Female of the Species is searingly honest, powerfully frank, disturbing in all the right ways, yet ultimately hopeful in a realistic way.
Alex Craft's older sister was abducted, raped, and murdered. (Dead sister, absent father, depressed mother.) In response, Alex has locked herself in mental and emotional armour. Also in response -- this will sound like a spoiler, but isn't -- she has murdered her sister's assailant.
In addition to Alex, trying not to feel, there is Peekay, trying not to be perfect, and trying to get over a broken heart. Good-looking and gifted Jack is trying to create a life with more meaning. Jack simultaneously pursues sex with the classically beautiful Branley and is ashamed of his shallowness. He craves something more lasting and authentic, and finds himself drawn to Alex. The gorgeous Branley, envy of all girls and object of desire of all boys, is collapsing under a self-worth based entirely on beauty and sexual availability. Adam, Peekay's ex, is sleeping with Branley. All are haunted by the memory of Anna, Alex's sister, but rape is not only a memory. Rape is an ever-present possibility.
The Female of the Species is about violence -- the violence and the threat of violence that hangs over every female in our society -- and the coping strategies we employ to deal with it. The violence runs the gamut from washroom graffiti and street harassment to roofies, rape, and murder. Many reviewers have noted that the book is about rape culture, which is true. But Alex and Peekay's volunteer work in an animal shelter show that the violence is not limited to women and girls. It is perpetrated, every day, on the powerless, the very creatures it is our responsibility to protect.
I had two problems with this book, but I'm guessing teen readers won't be bothered by either of them. First, the story is told from three different perspectives -- Alex, Peekay, and Jack -- but they all sound exactly the same. It's a challenge to write in different voices, but as an author, if you're giving three different first-person perspectives, you've accepted that challenge.
My second, more significant problem was that I found Alex's abilities hard to believe. As a revenge fantasy, it totally works. But as reality -- a teenage girl who literally gets away with murder, in a small town, where everyone knows everyone else's business -- it strains credulity. None of the reviewers on Goodreads mention this, so I might be the odd reader for whom Alex's revenge didn't seem real.
Despite this reservation, I can say this is an excellent, hard-hitting, honest and gripping story. It's one of the few youth novels to bring an unflinching eye to violence and the society that has more than enough of it to go around.
Alex Craft's older sister was abducted, raped, and murdered. (Dead sister, absent father, depressed mother.) In response, Alex has locked herself in mental and emotional armour. Also in response -- this will sound like a spoiler, but isn't -- she has murdered her sister's assailant.
In addition to Alex, trying not to feel, there is Peekay, trying not to be perfect, and trying to get over a broken heart. Good-looking and gifted Jack is trying to create a life with more meaning. Jack simultaneously pursues sex with the classically beautiful Branley and is ashamed of his shallowness. He craves something more lasting and authentic, and finds himself drawn to Alex. The gorgeous Branley, envy of all girls and object of desire of all boys, is collapsing under a self-worth based entirely on beauty and sexual availability. Adam, Peekay's ex, is sleeping with Branley. All are haunted by the memory of Anna, Alex's sister, but rape is not only a memory. Rape is an ever-present possibility.
The Female of the Species is about violence -- the violence and the threat of violence that hangs over every female in our society -- and the coping strategies we employ to deal with it. The violence runs the gamut from washroom graffiti and street harassment to roofies, rape, and murder. Many reviewers have noted that the book is about rape culture, which is true. But Alex and Peekay's volunteer work in an animal shelter show that the violence is not limited to women and girls. It is perpetrated, every day, on the powerless, the very creatures it is our responsibility to protect.
I had two problems with this book, but I'm guessing teen readers won't be bothered by either of them. First, the story is told from three different perspectives -- Alex, Peekay, and Jack -- but they all sound exactly the same. It's a challenge to write in different voices, but as an author, if you're giving three different first-person perspectives, you've accepted that challenge.
My second, more significant problem was that I found Alex's abilities hard to believe. As a revenge fantasy, it totally works. But as reality -- a teenage girl who literally gets away with murder, in a small town, where everyone knows everyone else's business -- it strains credulity. None of the reviewers on Goodreads mention this, so I might be the odd reader for whom Alex's revenge didn't seem real.
Despite this reservation, I can say this is an excellent, hard-hitting, honest and gripping story. It's one of the few youth novels to bring an unflinching eye to violence and the society that has more than enough of it to go around.
1.07.2017
update from the land of the missing white dog
We miss Tala a lot. Of course. Need it even be said.
Somehow I have gone from abject grief to poignant acceptance quicker than I expected. I have no idea why this is. With each dog we have said goodbye to, eventually I get to a place where, thinking of them, I feel sad but at peace -- fortunate to have had their love, assured that we did everything we could for them, and a kind of happy-sadness at their memories. My heart still aches for Tala, but somehow I'm at peace with it.
Everyone is asking about Diego. He is doing really well. He seemed "off" for a couple of days -- he seemed to be waiting for Tala to come home. For all we know, he still is. But he has quickly adapted to a new routine, and seems almost like his usual happy self.
I miss the howling, and the rough-housing. I wonder if Diego misses it, too.
I'm grateful that I was home for almost a full week before we suddenly had to say goodbye to Tala. If I had been out of the house at work and union meetings, I would have missed precious time with her. I'm also grateful that the decision was completely obvious. As soon as we saw the chest x-rays, we knew.
I'm having trouble reconciling myself to why we didn't help her sooner. She was having some symptoms, but we attributed them to her chronic spine condition and to age, never imagining something else was going on. She was struggling for a few weeks. But was she suffering? The thought of one of my animals suffering is unbearable for me. My brain tells me we did everything we could, and even if we didn't, we can't go back and re-do it. But my heart is not fully on board.
Tala's death has made me think about all love and all mortality. I'd say this is a sign of age, but in fact each time I lose someone I love, I feel this way. Our ability to love is infinite, but the creatures we love are always finite. And since we human animals are aware of our own mortality, we know that our love will lead to loss. But love we must.
I envy those people who believe in an eternal afterlife. When I say goodbye to someone I love, I realize what a beautiful fiction that is.
Somehow I have gone from abject grief to poignant acceptance quicker than I expected. I have no idea why this is. With each dog we have said goodbye to, eventually I get to a place where, thinking of them, I feel sad but at peace -- fortunate to have had their love, assured that we did everything we could for them, and a kind of happy-sadness at their memories. My heart still aches for Tala, but somehow I'm at peace with it.
Everyone is asking about Diego. He is doing really well. He seemed "off" for a couple of days -- he seemed to be waiting for Tala to come home. For all we know, he still is. But he has quickly adapted to a new routine, and seems almost like his usual happy self.
I miss the howling, and the rough-housing. I wonder if Diego misses it, too.
I'm grateful that I was home for almost a full week before we suddenly had to say goodbye to Tala. If I had been out of the house at work and union meetings, I would have missed precious time with her. I'm also grateful that the decision was completely obvious. As soon as we saw the chest x-rays, we knew.
I'm having trouble reconciling myself to why we didn't help her sooner. She was having some symptoms, but we attributed them to her chronic spine condition and to age, never imagining something else was going on. She was struggling for a few weeks. But was she suffering? The thought of one of my animals suffering is unbearable for me. My brain tells me we did everything we could, and even if we didn't, we can't go back and re-do it. But my heart is not fully on board.
Tala's death has made me think about all love and all mortality. I'd say this is a sign of age, but in fact each time I lose someone I love, I feel this way. Our ability to love is infinite, but the creatures we love are always finite. And since we human animals are aware of our own mortality, we know that our love will lead to loss. But love we must.
I envy those people who believe in an eternal afterlife. When I say goodbye to someone I love, I realize what a beautiful fiction that is.
1.06.2017
the lost comments of wmtc
I was randomly clicking around, and for absolutely no reason, clicked on Blogger's spam comment folder. And in that folder, I found a bunch of spam comments -- and several real comments from wmtc readers! There were comments from M@, James, deang, and Amy. This was quite a surprise.
I put all the comments through. They are all on very old threads. Strangely, I have not received them by email, as I normally do. Weird.
The lost comments have now been recovered. We can all breathe a sigh of relief.
I put all the comments through. They are all on very old threads. Strangely, I have not received them by email, as I normally do. Weird.
The lost comments have now been recovered. We can all breathe a sigh of relief.
12.29.2016
tala
We must say goodbye to our sweet Tala today. At the vet yesterday, we got the worst possible news, and we know we must do this right away. I'm grateful that it's a clear decision.
Tala, Tala Bobala, Talabo, T-bo, T. Skinny Face. Princess Tala. My Little Girl.
She started life in a puppy mill in Tennessee. She was rescued to Ohio, then to Husky Savers in Western New York State. Then finally to Canada -- on the underground railroad to freedom. We fell in love with her on Petfinder and have been that way ever since, now one month shy of 10 years.
Talabo. Spinning wildly in circles, a white blur. Patroling the perimeter of her yard to keep us safe from the evil squirrels. Barking and spinning in the car, nonstop. Barking until someone would finally spray her with a hose, hopefully until she was soaked. Staring at the hose, waiting for someone to spray her, or perhaps trying to will the hose to spray her.
At the sound of the word "upstairs," even in casual conversation not directed at her, getting up and walking upstairs to go in her crate. Eating bees. Live bees, buzzing around in her mouth before she swallowed and caught another.
In her younger days, picking on small dogs at the dog park. If they would turn around and give her what-for, she was happy to let them chase her. If they cowered, she bullied them until we could finally distract her.
Mostly nice to other dogs, always sweet to humans, especially children. When we first brought Tala home, Cody hated her, but Tala didn't care, she kept trying to get Cody to play with her, until Cody finally gave in. Tala, best friend to Diego from the moment they met.
Degenerative disc disease or cauda equina syndrome forced us to change her life. She adapted without complaint. Not once, but two or three times, when we had to re-boot her rehab from the beginning. In May 2016 she had a soft tissue sarcoma. We had it removed and she was quickly back to herself.
White, soft, fluffy, with magic self-cleaning fur that repelled water and never looked dirty. ("How do you keep her so clean?" People would ask me all the time.)
Goodbye, my little girl. We will love you forever.
Gypsy, November 28, 1987 - November 12, 1998
Clyde, October 21, 1989 - August 4, 1999
Cody, April 19, 1999 - August 24, 2010
Buster, December 14, 1999 - November 16, 2005
Tala, January 29, 2007 - December 29, 2016
Diego, April 26, 2011
Tala, Tala Bobala, Talabo, T-bo, T. Skinny Face. Princess Tala. My Little Girl.
She started life in a puppy mill in Tennessee. She was rescued to Ohio, then to Husky Savers in Western New York State. Then finally to Canada -- on the underground railroad to freedom. We fell in love with her on Petfinder and have been that way ever since, now one month shy of 10 years.
Talabo. Spinning wildly in circles, a white blur. Patroling the perimeter of her yard to keep us safe from the evil squirrels. Barking and spinning in the car, nonstop. Barking until someone would finally spray her with a hose, hopefully until she was soaked. Staring at the hose, waiting for someone to spray her, or perhaps trying to will the hose to spray her.
At the sound of the word "upstairs," even in casual conversation not directed at her, getting up and walking upstairs to go in her crate. Eating bees. Live bees, buzzing around in her mouth before she swallowed and caught another.
In her younger days, picking on small dogs at the dog park. If they would turn around and give her what-for, she was happy to let them chase her. If they cowered, she bullied them until we could finally distract her.
Mostly nice to other dogs, always sweet to humans, especially children. When we first brought Tala home, Cody hated her, but Tala didn't care, she kept trying to get Cody to play with her, until Cody finally gave in. Tala, best friend to Diego from the moment they met.
Degenerative disc disease or cauda equina syndrome forced us to change her life. She adapted without complaint. Not once, but two or three times, when we had to re-boot her rehab from the beginning. In May 2016 she had a soft tissue sarcoma. We had it removed and she was quickly back to herself.
White, soft, fluffy, with magic self-cleaning fur that repelled water and never looked dirty. ("How do you keep her so clean?" People would ask me all the time.)
Goodbye, my little girl. We will love you forever.
 |
| After diagnosis |
 |
| Rehab |
 |
| Cherry Beach, with Diego |
 |
| Waiting... hoping... |
 |
| Waiting for a neighbour to spray her. |
 |
| After one of the wmtc parties. |
 |
| After her surgery this past May. |
 |
| This will always be my favourite picture of her. |
 |
| The picture on Petfinder. L: "Where is Churchville, New York?" A: "I don't know, but wherever it is, we're going." |
Gypsy, November 28, 1987 - November 12, 1998
Clyde, October 21, 1989 - August 4, 1999
Cody, April 19, 1999 - August 24, 2010
Buster, December 14, 1999 - November 16, 2005
Tala, January 29, 2007 - December 29, 2016
Diego, April 26, 2011
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