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WE
WERE UP a little later than
usual, around eight, indicating
that we were finally adjusting
to local time zones. As I was
preparing my homemade Nescafe
there was a knock on the
door—our little Indian man
returning my Urantia Book,
without comment. The day before
they had been to the “Light and
Sound” show and encouraged us to
see it too. Today they had plans
to visit other attractions and
weren’t sure when we’d be able
to hook up again. They had
plainly lost interest in us now
that they had developed the
confidence to be “on their own,”
much to our relief.
Before
breakfast (bread, butter, jam,
coffee) we stopped at the front
desk and arranged a tour of
Cairo, to start at ten, with a
hotel-recommended guide named
Samir, at a cost of E40 pounds
(around $12) for the day. We had
expected a bus loaded with other
tourists, but when Samir arrived
in his white VW van we appeared
to be the only ones.
Riding
through the streets of Cairo,
with Joy sitting up front
chatting with Samir, I
videotaped miles of colorful
daily street life. When we
commented on the endless honking
of horns, Samir told us that
Egyptians do not consider it
offensive when someone honks
their horn at you, that it was
more like a nudge, a way of
letting the driver in the car
next to you know that you are
there. Nobody stayed in their
lanes—there were no lanes, and
very few traffic lights. Cars
just swarmed along like a school
of fish gone haywire. It was
complete chaos, bumper-to-bumper
traffic, and whenever there was
a small break in the traffic,
everyone floored it to try and
occupy the space in front of the
next car, beeping their horns as
they inched forward.
Our
first stop was a mosque in the
Islamic part of town. Entering
the courtyard, Samir informed us
in hushed tones that this was
normally forbidden to tourists,
but if we kept our presence
low-key we could have the
privilege of experiencing it.
He
had us climb up a steep,
circular staircase to reach
inside the top of a minaret that
provided sweeping panoramic
views of the surrounding area.
* * *
From
there we drove on, stopping for
fresh-squeezed orange juice
somewhere along the road. We
could tell that this particular
stand was a regular stop for
Samir’s tours, as the operator
and his young son seemed to be
expecting us and, in an
obviously rehearsed act, dazzled
us with a colorful display of
various fruits and
state-of-the-art electric juice
extracting equipment. We were
happy to buy his delicious
product, and treated Samir to a
glass also.
This
was followed by a tour of a
papyrus factory where a highly
skilled worker first
demonstrated the procedure for
making papyrus and then
relentlessly tried to get us to
buy some expensive hand-painted
pieces. We resisted as much as
we could, mainly because none of
the patterns appealed to us, but
finally Joy relented when he
said he said could create a
custom piece with her own
design. She had him copy the
three-concentric-circles logo
onto the smallest possible
piece, and we arranged to return
to pick it up after viewing the
pyramids.
* * *
Arriving at Giza, on the spur of
the moment we decided to be
adventurous and rent camels to
ride over the desert to view the
pyramids. The total was around
E60 pounds (around $20) for a
two-hour camel ride that was, in
retrospect, one of the
highlights of our trip, if not
our lives.
We had
three guides, all young boys. At
first it was scary sitting up so
high on a wobbly bag of bones,
especially when trying to
videotape the experience, but I
soon adjusted to the motions of
the camel. I hung my daypack,
containing water, camera and
videocamera paraphernalia, on
the pummel of the saddle and
soon felt quite comfortable.
 Criss-crossing
the desert in front of us were
Egyptians on horses and camels,
all wanting to say hello to us.
Non-aggressive armed guards with
machine guns were all around,
but they only smiled at us.
 At
one point our guide on horseback
got into a scuffle with a vendor
on a donkey who approached
trying to sell us Coca Cola.
After we had refused to buy the
drink from him, saying we had
our own water, the man lowered
his price, and when our teenage
guide told him we still were not
interested and to get lost, a
fist fight ensued. I tried to
videotape the brawl but my camel
was facing the wrong way and my
young guide did not understand
my instructions. “Turn the camel
around!” I shouted, but he just
smiled back at me.
The scuffle continues as we ride
away
Joy: “I remember
the fight going on in the
distance even after we had moved
on. The sand was flying and all
sorts of Egyptians ran to the
scene, beating the air and sand
with their camel whips. The boy
who had been leading my camel
gave me the reins so that he
could mount the horse which his
older brother had been riding
before he’d gotten in the fight.
As the skirmish continued, the
boy on the horse galloped back
toward camp at breakneck speed.
I thought he was going for help,
but about a quarter mile away he
pulled the horse up on a sand
hill and waited a few minutes.
Then he raced the horse back to
us in a dead run. I
finally realized that he hadn't
been going for help at all but
was just taking advantage of the
situation to have a fun wild
ride across the desert on his
older brother's horse.
Later, in broken English, the
boy told us that the reason for
the fight had been that his
brother was "protecting" us from
the Coca Cola salesman, whom he
thought had been bothering us
too much. I suspect that these
men of the desert just enjoy a
good fight occasionally.”
It was
an unforgettable, indescribable
experience riding through the
vast desert with ancient
pyramids all around.
The Andites
built the first stone structures
in Egypt. The first and most
exquisite of the stone pyramids
was erected by Imhotep, an
Andite architectural genius,
while serving as prime minister.
Previous buildings had been
constructed of brick, and while
many stone structures had been
erected in different parts of
the world, this was the first in
Egypt. But the art of building
steadily declined from the days
of this great architect. [UB
894]
* * *
In
time we returned and met Samir
for the trip back—a quiet drive
as our butts were sore and we
were each lost in our own
thoughts. Samir, who had started
out being so friendly and
informative, had now become
distant and cool. Earlier in the
day he had paid compliments by
saying, after I had told him I
was 53, that I looked around 44;
on top of the minaret he had
reduced my age to 35. In the
morning he had been very
talkative with Joy in the front
seat, responding in great detail
to her questions about Egyptian
life. Now he was silent and
remained so until he dropped us
off at our hotel, leaving us
baffled by his change in
attitude toward us.
Seeking a place to get some
instant cash, we were escorted
through the streets by one of
the hotel’s young employees. As
usual we were stared at and
smiled at. I also bought a
battery for my travel alarm to
insure rising at 4:15 a.m. for
the bus ride to Israel the next
morning.
Joy
had promised to bring her friend
Chazz a musical instrument from
every country we visited. In
Greece she had bought him a
small bouzouki and here we were
looking for a tambourine. Samir
had told us where we could find
one near the hotel, and after
getting our money we set off on
an eventful walk, daringly
winding our way through chaotic
traffic by putting out our arms
until all cars stopped—not so
for the Egyptians! Only two
Western-looking (even slightly
middle-aged!) women can stop
traffic in this city!
In an
obscure part of town we found
the tambourine place, Gamil
Georges, owned by a gypsylike
woman. While we examined the
various unusual handmade
instruments prior to purchase,
neighboring shopkeepers and
various passersby stopped to
witness the transaction and put
in their two cents’ worth.
On the
walk back, Joy had her shoes
shined by a wrinkled old man for
one Egyptian pound—about 30
cents! A crowd gathered around
us and I snapped pictures. In
the end she gave the man an
American dollar, worth around
three times more than his fee.
At first the man didn’t know
what it was, and looked puzzled,
but after someone told him its
value he seemed thrilled and
flashed a big, toothless grin at
us.
After
freshening up we went into the
historic Barrel Bar for a
pre-dinner beer. At the turn of
the century this bar had been
famous as a colonial British
officers’ club. Now the
clientele seemed to be
well-heeled Egyptian
businessmen. Although we were
not in Casablanca I kept
expecting Humphrey Bogart and
Ingrid Bergman to walk in. We
sat there absorbing the
atmosphere, Joy writing a long
letter and me writing in my
diary. Afterwards we paid our
hotel bill in advance so we
could make an early exit in the
morning.
For
dinner we opted for a Muslim
restaurant we’d scoped out
earlier about a block away,
bringing our own bottle of wine.
The owner had no problem with
that, as long as we kept the
bottle hidden out of sight and
gave him a shot in an opaque
cup, which he sipped on
contentedly as he sat in the
windowsill of the open window
while we ate. Once again we were
the only diners, due to our
several-hours-ahead-of-everyone-else
schedule.
Back
at our hotel we had a brandy in
the bar as an excuse to
people-watch some more. At an
early hour we retired to our
room to pack and prepare for the
bus journey from Cairo to
Jerusalem, setting the alarm for
4:15 a.m. We fell asleep to the
sounds of the street noise
outside our hotel. All night
long there were horns honking
and beeping reminding us that we
were really and truly in the
amazing city of Cairo.
An Egyptian beer label I pasted
in my diary
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