I think Henry Wadsworth Longfellow might have put how I'm feeling into words.
"The heights by great men reached and kept / were not attained by sudden flight / But they, while their companions slept / Were toiling upward in the night"
I don't sleep anymore. I haven't slept since traveling through Africa, really, and I wish I were exaggerating. It's been seven exact days since I arrived back in America, and it feels as if I never left. It's this odd sensation between extreme exhaustion and a craving to keep myself busy because I don't have the time to be sad. I find that the busier I am, the less I think about the countries, the people I left behind. There is no time for depression or reminiscence or living in my head. There is no time.
So, I am working two jobs and taking decently difficult english and psychology courses to keep myself in mental shape, or at least to keep me from having a sappy breakdown. But who can overload themselves on work when all they want to do is sleepsleepsleep? I stare longingly at my pillow, my comforter, and wish I could just rest my head instead of reading five more chapters of Sherwood Anderson. I wish I could replay every single second of my summer while standing under the flowing amazingness of a hot shower for more than fifteen minutes. I wish I had time.
When I do have time, I find myself zoning out like a zombie on some sort of mellow downer. It's kind of ridiculous. I can't focus properly. I think I might be burnt out.
...
So, I am in need of a nice body massage and five days worth of sleep, but life will be life, and we will all carry on. I will set aside my zombie-esque stares and shake myself out of those dazed, exhausted stupors and get to work. There will come a day, hopefully sooner rather than later, where I will have the time to look back at my summer and nod my head, knowing that it was so insane, so amazing, so incredibly worth every penny I saved up for it. But right now, right now I think I might take my pillow up on its offer of semi-sleep, and give in to the night while I still have the energy to crawl into my bed.
G'night, folks. Sleep well.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
"Amazing", and everything else that's not coming out of my mouth.
Here I sit, in a Virginia hotel, watching the thunderstorm from my bed and trying to look objectively at my summer. I stare at pictures in disbelief, pictures that I took in places like Venice, and Istanbul, and Cairo. I've been doing double-takes and rubbing my eyes profusely trying to slap some sense into myself that this summer actually happened. It's absurd.
I've been crying and hugging and struggling with at least 10 pieces of carry-on luggage all morning, and here I sit in complete awe. I can't get over it. You know those dreams you wake up from in the middle of the night, the ones that seem so real but are too good to be true? This trip is like that for me right now.
I'm trying so hard to clear my head and make sense of it all. Compartmentalizing it in my head is not working, and these countries flew by so fast that if I blink, it could have not happened. I could have been working odd jobs all summer, like I did last summer. I could have stayed at home, wondering about internships and devouring novels by the week. But I moved out of my comfort zone and stepped foot on a ship with 700 other students from all over the world. And I'm in shock.
I am having the hardest time trying to figure out what to tell my family, my friends, should they ask the dreaded question: How was your summer?
...Silence. I have no idea what to say. I'm rendered speechless. The answer that comes to mind is, "Amazing." But of course that doesn't cover even one of the places I stepped foot in. Amazing doesn't begin to describe the majesty of the pyramids, or the depth of the Adriatic Sea. Amazing doesn't cover the sunrise from Mt. Sinai, or the heart-piercing beauty of Venice. So, what kind of answer could sum my summer up?
Even my closest friends are not going to want to sit through 2,000 pictures of adventures and people they don't know. They aren't going to have the attention span to listen to my millions and millions of stories. They don't care. So, how do I put into words an experience so precious to me, this voyage of discovery and humbleness? Can I even describe it at all, to anyone who wasn't experiencing this with me?
I guess I'll find out. I'm afraid that I will have to hold everything in until it just bubbles up from my heart and spews out of my mouth in exhausted excitement to anyone within ear shot. I can't hold it all in, but I can't explain it. Not well enough, and not nearly enough at all. I'm backed into this corner of my own making, and anything that I do end up telling people won't do my experiences justice.
But I'm going to try. I'm going to use rusty words like "Brilliant", "Magnificent" and "Awe-Inspiring". I'm going to try my hardest to explain what I felt in my heart at each moment during this voyage, in countries and on the ship. The least I can do is try.
I've been crying and hugging and struggling with at least 10 pieces of carry-on luggage all morning, and here I sit in complete awe. I can't get over it. You know those dreams you wake up from in the middle of the night, the ones that seem so real but are too good to be true? This trip is like that for me right now.
I'm trying so hard to clear my head and make sense of it all. Compartmentalizing it in my head is not working, and these countries flew by so fast that if I blink, it could have not happened. I could have been working odd jobs all summer, like I did last summer. I could have stayed at home, wondering about internships and devouring novels by the week. But I moved out of my comfort zone and stepped foot on a ship with 700 other students from all over the world. And I'm in shock.
I am having the hardest time trying to figure out what to tell my family, my friends, should they ask the dreaded question: How was your summer?
...Silence. I have no idea what to say. I'm rendered speechless. The answer that comes to mind is, "Amazing." But of course that doesn't cover even one of the places I stepped foot in. Amazing doesn't begin to describe the majesty of the pyramids, or the depth of the Adriatic Sea. Amazing doesn't cover the sunrise from Mt. Sinai, or the heart-piercing beauty of Venice. So, what kind of answer could sum my summer up?
Even my closest friends are not going to want to sit through 2,000 pictures of adventures and people they don't know. They aren't going to have the attention span to listen to my millions and millions of stories. They don't care. So, how do I put into words an experience so precious to me, this voyage of discovery and humbleness? Can I even describe it at all, to anyone who wasn't experiencing this with me?
I guess I'll find out. I'm afraid that I will have to hold everything in until it just bubbles up from my heart and spews out of my mouth in exhausted excitement to anyone within ear shot. I can't hold it all in, but I can't explain it. Not well enough, and not nearly enough at all. I'm backed into this corner of my own making, and anything that I do end up telling people won't do my experiences justice.
But I'm going to try. I'm going to use rusty words like "Brilliant", "Magnificent" and "Awe-Inspiring". I'm going to try my hardest to explain what I felt in my heart at each moment during this voyage, in countries and on the ship. The least I can do is try.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Falling Stars
I leaned my head back against the faculty lounge window, and tried to pick out constellations, to no avail. Michelle and Emily lay beside me, quietly contemplating whatever people contemplate when they look into the faces of stars. The ocean and sky take on a whole new aura when the moon comes out, and I silently scolded myself for not noticing earlier.
The black waves lit up as the moon shimmered, and I wondered aloud if the people at home would look at the same stars four hours later. I felt so relaxed, so peaceful. The waves made a slapping sound against the ship, always restless and unrelenting. I took the pick from my pocket and began to strum my Bouzouki. I picked Titanic, of course. I surely have mastered it by now.
I glimpsed at the sky, and Emily and I sucked in our breath at the same time. A falling star traveled across the open sky and disappeared.
“Quick, make a wish!” She laughed.
And so I did.
The faculty lounge was reflecting oranges and blues and greens off of my glasses, and I turned around to peek in the window. I couldn’t help my obnoxious outburst of laughter. Michelle and Emily turned to peek in the window, too. The faculty must have been having some kind of disco party in the lounge because the bar was full and the center of the lounge had turned into a dance floor. We watched our professors flail their arms and kick their legs and gyrate their hips in ways that no hips should ever gyrate.
“Emily isn’t that your dad?” I giggled.
“No, that’s Liz’s dad!”
“He’s dancing with my mom!” Michelle’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth.
We were talking about our adopted parents, of course. I felt as if I were fourteen and watching a dirty movie. We giggled and threw ourselves on the ground below the panoramic window when we thought a faculty member was looking over at us. Then we would pop our heads up to sneak another peek. It was truly fantastical.
I took my Bouzouki in my arms and began to play Titanic again. Michelle and Emily lay back down. I watched another star fall from the sky and disappear, listening to the waves splash and the faint sound of 80’s rap that seeped through the windows.
It was a glorious night.
The black waves lit up as the moon shimmered, and I wondered aloud if the people at home would look at the same stars four hours later. I felt so relaxed, so peaceful. The waves made a slapping sound against the ship, always restless and unrelenting. I took the pick from my pocket and began to strum my Bouzouki. I picked Titanic, of course. I surely have mastered it by now.
I glimpsed at the sky, and Emily and I sucked in our breath at the same time. A falling star traveled across the open sky and disappeared.
“Quick, make a wish!” She laughed.
And so I did.
The faculty lounge was reflecting oranges and blues and greens off of my glasses, and I turned around to peek in the window. I couldn’t help my obnoxious outburst of laughter. Michelle and Emily turned to peek in the window, too. The faculty must have been having some kind of disco party in the lounge because the bar was full and the center of the lounge had turned into a dance floor. We watched our professors flail their arms and kick their legs and gyrate their hips in ways that no hips should ever gyrate.
“Emily isn’t that your dad?” I giggled.
“No, that’s Liz’s dad!”
“He’s dancing with my mom!” Michelle’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth.
We were talking about our adopted parents, of course. I felt as if I were fourteen and watching a dirty movie. We giggled and threw ourselves on the ground below the panoramic window when we thought a faculty member was looking over at us. Then we would pop our heads up to sneak another peek. It was truly fantastical.
I took my Bouzouki in my arms and began to play Titanic again. Michelle and Emily lay back down. I watched another star fall from the sky and disappear, listening to the waves splash and the faint sound of 80’s rap that seeped through the windows.
It was a glorious night.
Just a little bug bite.
On the last day in Morocco, I stood on the 7th Deck with Paul, Michelle, Liz, Emily, and many other SASer’s, waving goodbye to land for ten days. People were snapping “jumping” photos, and others wore sad faces to show how much they were going to miss country-hoppin’.
I didn’t have an expression on my face. I wasn’t smiling, or frowning, or talking to anyone. I just stood there, mesmerized by the ship’s horn blowing us away from Morocco’s port, away from all the countries we traveled to in the last 2 months. I couldn’t stop staring at the water, at land, wondering if I would ever be back. Wondering if this trip was truly a once-in-a-lifetime whim or if I would make a career out of seeing the world.
I stood there expressionless, trying to pinpoint the first time I felt normal on this trip, as if sailing to a million countries was normal, and it took me a while, but I came up with an answer to my own question. Croatia. I finally felt normal in Croatia, the 3rd country on our itinerary.
Foreign currency was no longer weird paper from the game of Monopoly, but something that I would get used to exchanging in every place. Spanish, Italian, and Grecian Euros, Croatian Kuna (Weasels), Bulgarian Lev, Romanian Lei, Turkish Lira, Egyptian Pounds, and Moroccan Durham. I still have a little of each, and it all seems to blend, every bit of it.
It was in Croatia that language barriers stopped bothering me. I began to learn Spanish, Italian, Croatian, Turkish, Kurdish, and Arabic. I learned the basics, like “Hello,” and “Bathroom, please?” Of course, I don’t remember any of these languages, except a little Italian like, “Ciao, Bella!” but I was able to get myself around after Croatia, and I no longer worried myself into a frenzy wondering whether or not it was okay to use hand gestures when conversing.
Croatia brought me out of my shell, out of my introverted, meek shell and into the world of “just do it, because there may not be another chance”. I stopped worrying about offending people, because people are always going to be offended about something. I talked to people, really began talking to people, because I missed out on this in Spain. I was intimidated in Spain, but no longer in Croatia.
That was the turning point for me on this trip; I started to have fun, let loose, encountering the cultures instead of backing away from them. I don’t regret any experience I had, really. I believe that everything on this trip happened for a reason, and I don’t think I’d change much. There are a million things I want to go back and do in each country, but I think I had my fair share of fun in each. I learned so much.
So, I stood on the 7th deck with my friends, watching as the MV Explorer moved farther and farther away from Morocco, and I finally smiled. I was a traveler. I am a traveler. And that kind of thing just doesn’t go away.
I guess you might say I was bit by the wanderlust bug, and that kind of bite doesn’t really disappear. It scars. People cover it up with work schedules and families and “settling down”, but I don’t ever want to throw away my wanderlust. It’s who I am.
I am a traveler, and I don’t think I waved goodbye to the world forever, no, not forever. I will be back. I shall be back.
I didn’t have an expression on my face. I wasn’t smiling, or frowning, or talking to anyone. I just stood there, mesmerized by the ship’s horn blowing us away from Morocco’s port, away from all the countries we traveled to in the last 2 months. I couldn’t stop staring at the water, at land, wondering if I would ever be back. Wondering if this trip was truly a once-in-a-lifetime whim or if I would make a career out of seeing the world.
I stood there expressionless, trying to pinpoint the first time I felt normal on this trip, as if sailing to a million countries was normal, and it took me a while, but I came up with an answer to my own question. Croatia. I finally felt normal in Croatia, the 3rd country on our itinerary.
Foreign currency was no longer weird paper from the game of Monopoly, but something that I would get used to exchanging in every place. Spanish, Italian, and Grecian Euros, Croatian Kuna (Weasels), Bulgarian Lev, Romanian Lei, Turkish Lira, Egyptian Pounds, and Moroccan Durham. I still have a little of each, and it all seems to blend, every bit of it.
It was in Croatia that language barriers stopped bothering me. I began to learn Spanish, Italian, Croatian, Turkish, Kurdish, and Arabic. I learned the basics, like “Hello,” and “Bathroom, please?” Of course, I don’t remember any of these languages, except a little Italian like, “Ciao, Bella!” but I was able to get myself around after Croatia, and I no longer worried myself into a frenzy wondering whether or not it was okay to use hand gestures when conversing.
Croatia brought me out of my shell, out of my introverted, meek shell and into the world of “just do it, because there may not be another chance”. I stopped worrying about offending people, because people are always going to be offended about something. I talked to people, really began talking to people, because I missed out on this in Spain. I was intimidated in Spain, but no longer in Croatia.
That was the turning point for me on this trip; I started to have fun, let loose, encountering the cultures instead of backing away from them. I don’t regret any experience I had, really. I believe that everything on this trip happened for a reason, and I don’t think I’d change much. There are a million things I want to go back and do in each country, but I think I had my fair share of fun in each. I learned so much.
So, I stood on the 7th deck with my friends, watching as the MV Explorer moved farther and farther away from Morocco, and I finally smiled. I was a traveler. I am a traveler. And that kind of thing just doesn’t go away.
I guess you might say I was bit by the wanderlust bug, and that kind of bite doesn’t really disappear. It scars. People cover it up with work schedules and families and “settling down”, but I don’t ever want to throw away my wanderlust. It’s who I am.
I am a traveler, and I don’t think I waved goodbye to the world forever, no, not forever. I will be back. I shall be back.
Morocco Days 1, 2, 3, and 4 ((Hot Fez))
Well, it’s been awhile since I’ve last written, and we’ve been back at sea for a few days now, but I still haven’t written anything about Morocco yet. It’s because I’m both very busy with finals and essays, and the simple fact that I’m still not sure how to put into words what I experienced.
I wanted to just write a nice satire about my experience, but I don’t think I can handle it. I’ve had three essays due in the last two days, and I have my Global final coming up, which I haven’t been studying for at all. It’s a lose-lose situation. But. Before I bog you down with the dirty, hand-cramped details, I want to at least bullet-point Morocco. Bullets won’t do it justice, but I’ll give it my best shot.
Morocco (in the most truthful of bullet-points I can possibly muster)
Ø I purchased an SAS trip to Marrakech, the Sahara desert, and the Atlas Mountains for the entirety of Morocco…this was my first mistake. I should have stuck with planning, or lack thereof, my own adventures…
Ø This trip consisted of about 192.4 SAS students/faculty/lifelong learners, which ended up being one of the biggest trips during this entire voyage. With an amazon group like this, something is bound to happen, right? I tried to mentally prepare myself…
Ø We all got split up between 14 different vans, and I placed myself in a group full of, well, to put it mildly, a few SASholes.
Ø During the 3.5 hour drive to Marrakech, we realized that a) our van seemed to lack air-conditioning… and the windows in our van did not seem to push out like other van windows did.
Ø Our driver blasted the Moroccan tunes, which I loved, but grew to hate because I think he played the same song over and over and over and over and over.
Ø Our group quickly resorted to singing Girl Scout songs and 100 bottles of beer in the van...and Billy got everyone to agree on the group name of “Hot Fez”. Shall I explain the joke? Fez is a city in Morocco, and it’s a take after the movie “Hot Fuzz”. Better?
Ø I felt like I was back on an elementary school field trip, which was actually kind of amusing. There were fifteen of us in this stuffy, cramped van belting out 90’s songs like no one was watching, and then making up a chant and count off for our newly acquired group… We would each say our number (I was 12), and then we would chant, “Hot Fez, Hot Fez, ya ya ya…” and then we would do the South African catcall… it was the most absurd, obnoxious, hilarious, tiresome thing I’ve encountered in a long time. And everyone participated, which was a miracle in and of itself.
Ø We arrived to Marrakech for lunch, and proceeded to eat lunch, which I did not eat much of. I was still getting over my Traveler’s Diarrhea.
Ø Then all 192ish of us checked into this hotel, which we thought would be amazing based on the really nice, marbled lobby and beautiful architecture.
Ø And then we got to our rooms. Michelle and I’s room was not that bad, actually. Our bathroom was extremely grungy, but that was about it. Emily and Lindsey and Paul came bursting into our room after about ten minutes, and they were all yelling and laughing about something. Apparently, Emily’s bed had blood stains in it (we saw pictures of proof), and their toilet would not flush, which I found quite humorous.
Ø Paul was having a nervous breakdown because of the heat and exhaustion, and he ended up laughing so hard that he grabbed a hold of our curtains and ripped them right from the window, which we all went into hysterics about. It was one big hysterics-fest, filled with sweat and tears and uncontrollable giggling.
Ø Then all the SASer’s met in the lobby to go to a “Fantasia folk show with dinner”. It was laughable. We went to this really nice palace-like place, which said it was the “Disney of Morocco”. Then we watched the horse “show” which consisted of men in tights galloping on the horses and firing off their guns. I think by the time the show was over, I was deaf and stupid.
Ø We went back to the hotel, and slept off the gun shots and ridiculous men.
Ø Michelle’s alarm went off at 5:45AM the following morning, and I rose to take a shower in the grimy bathroom, and when I got out, I think I might have felt dirtier than before I got in.
Ø It was going to take a rough 7.5 hours to drive from Marrakech to the Sahara… which we all dreaded because no one could switch vans. Which meant only one thing to Hot Fez; no air-conditioning in the pure desert heat for most of the day.
Ø We all switched seats off and on and tried to limit our Ipod consumption because we knew we would all run out of music battery before this trip was over.
Ø I ended up sprawled like a starfish on the luggage in the back, just to stretch out my legs. People took turns laying in the dirty aisle way of the van…
Ø We looked inside the other vans during our lunch break, and our eyes widened when we saw that every other van felt icy cold from the air conditioning, and had enough leg room between each row of seats to completely sprawl out, as needed. We also found out that many of the other vans were not filled to full passenger capacity… some only carried 7 or so people, when we had the smallest, smelliest van that carried 15 people, not including the driver. I think we all wanted to bawl and start a riot by this point.
Ø We ate lunch in the middle of nowhere at this restaurant that was hotter than our van, which made me want to lie down and die.
Ø We stopped at a rest stop sort of place that was part creepy diner, part snack stand because our van had to use the bathroom. So I waited and waited and waited and waited in line for my turn because I had to go so very bad and finally burst through the wooden door with urgency as soon as the last person came out.
Ø … it was like something out of a backwoods horror flick. There was no toilet, only a hole. So, out of panic and exhaustion, I ripped off my pants completely and tried to pee in the hole. This did not work at all. I have never wished to be a boy before, but at that moment, I wanted nothing more. I waddled out of the wooden stall, and asked to borrow someone’s hand sanitizer to not only clean my hands, but my legs and feet as well. It was the epitome of disgusting.
Ø We hopped back in the van and drove to this little Berber village that actually had a grocery store. All 195ish of the SASer’s bought vodka and beer and wine by the gallon. This should have been the first clue as to how the night was going to end up, but I didn’t think much of it then.
Ø We eventually made it to the outskirts of the Sahara 4 hours after our stop at the village, and we all rolled out of the van peeved and hot and ready for a cold shower. Sand blew into my mouth and eyes the moment I stepped out, and I tried to shield them both with a head scarf of Billy’s that I had made into a nice turban. It did not work.
Ø We hopped on our camels (some rode two to a camel, including Michelle and I), and we made the 1 hour trek to our nomad camp. We passed by these random closets of houses, with five or six dirty children standing around, staring at us. I felt so awful.
Ø Our camp, once we made it there, was actually very nicely set up and pretty sweet to stay in. We were in the middle of the desert, with about 100 angry camels and 10 men in turbans and long white dresses who I assumed to be the nomads. There were about 4 rows of tents, each sleeping 6 people, with little cots for beds, a wool blanket on each.
Ø We sat on the rugs, which blanketed the sand, and watched these men sing and dance and play instruments for us in the blazing heat as the sun slowly set.
Ø We ate our dinner, kind of, and then around 10pm, none of the people in our tent (me, Emily, Paul, Eric, Alex) could keep our eyes open, so we fell into our cots and stuck immediately to the wool blankets. I felt so dirty and sticky and grimy…and the heat was a little more than unbearable. We wondered when it would get cold… so I slept with my jacket on, zipped all the way up to my neck, with my hood up in fear that things might crawl over me while I was sleeping. I am sometimes paranoid about these things. Scarabs, sand fleas…you just never know.
Ø The beating drums and singing continued until midnight, so we were all laying there talking for about two hours, thinking that now we could finally close our eyes for good.
Ø And it was a big joke, maybe the biggest joke of all, to think that we were going to sleep that night. The SAS party, apparently, had just gotten started. Just as I was about to drift off, I heard drunk girls and guys going at it in the next tent over…then people were arguing, and saying things like, “F you”, “No, F you”, and people were screaming from other tents, “Well, why don’t you both just F and get it over with already!” and I don’t think I’ve ever heard such vulgarity in my entire life more than the kind of stuff I heard that night.
Ø This continued until 5 in the morning, and the camels started mooing at 6am sharp. I opened my eyes only to realize I hadn’t slept, and I was livid. Well, as livid as I could be with the kind of urgent exhaustion I felt.
Ø We all woke up and brushed our teeth with bottled water, spitting the sand out of our mouths into the dirt. Then I changed clothes, which probably wasn’t necessary, and put on some deodorant, and Michelle and I shared a camel once again to make the hour trek back to our heat-stroke van.
Ø It was not the kind of trip I thought it was going to be, to say the least. Five students got expelled from Semester at Sea for behaving in such a drunken, vulgar manner, and they are still stuck on the ship with us, but the credits for their classes will not transfer, and it will show up on their records that they were expelled from the program. I think they certainly deserved what they got, the SASholes.
Ø After fifteen minutes of riding in the van, my Ipod died and I was left to either sleep or stare out the window into the sand dunes and dust. I opted for staring out the window, because I don’t sleep on moving vehicles very well at all.
Ø For 4 hours, I stared out the window at the winding deserts and the beautiful majesty of the Atlas Mountains, and we stopped at a small Berber store, which is where I ended up falling in love. The drum I fell in love with is an authentic African Jembe made with a camel skin top, and it plays beautifully. I bought it on the spot, and smiled for the remaining 3.5 hours back to the hotel.
Ø We all ended up switching hotel rooms because we had to check out and re-check in for a second time…and just guess which room Michelle and I ended up in because we are just that amazing? The blood-stained, non-flushing toilet room. We practically shared a bed to not have to suffer with the nastiness. It was very foul.
Ø That night, we had some free time in Marrakech to shop at the famous Bazaar. ((Side note: on the very first day in Marrakech, before we checked into our hotel the first time, I ended up getting henna done on my right hand, and I don’t think the woman who did it could have ripped me off anymore than she did. I don’t want to talk about it.)
Ø So, a bunch of us hopped in a taxi and shopped in the Bazaar until almost 1am…then we took a horse and buggy back to the hotel, which would have been relaxing had there not been 7 people shoved on each other’s laps in the 4-person fitting buggy.
Ø We woke up the next morning, and then made the 3.5 hour trek back to the ship, weary, still exhausted, and very crabby.
Well, I’m sure I left out many important details, but you get the gist of the story. It was kind of a miserable trip, and we all can laugh about it now that it’s over and we don’t have to sit in the Hot Fez van ever, ever again. Everyone who went on the trip pretty much agreed that it was both hilariously absurd and painfully awful, and the people who didn’t even go on the trip are still talking about it, re-telling stories that their friends told them, etcetera.
I guess one of the vans stopped to pick up a hitchhiker along the way to the Sahara and then dropped the hitchhiker off after an hour of confusion. I can only guess how that story got recycled on the ship. Another van passed by three dead bodies on the side of the Atlas Mountains just as the police were covering them up with white sheets. We all experienced something different, and it was certainly a bond-worthy experience.
Can I just say that I’m glad to be out of the Sahara? Good grief.
I wanted to just write a nice satire about my experience, but I don’t think I can handle it. I’ve had three essays due in the last two days, and I have my Global final coming up, which I haven’t been studying for at all. It’s a lose-lose situation. But. Before I bog you down with the dirty, hand-cramped details, I want to at least bullet-point Morocco. Bullets won’t do it justice, but I’ll give it my best shot.
Morocco (in the most truthful of bullet-points I can possibly muster)
Ø I purchased an SAS trip to Marrakech, the Sahara desert, and the Atlas Mountains for the entirety of Morocco…this was my first mistake. I should have stuck with planning, or lack thereof, my own adventures…
Ø This trip consisted of about 192.4 SAS students/faculty/lifelong learners, which ended up being one of the biggest trips during this entire voyage. With an amazon group like this, something is bound to happen, right? I tried to mentally prepare myself…
Ø We all got split up between 14 different vans, and I placed myself in a group full of, well, to put it mildly, a few SASholes.
Ø During the 3.5 hour drive to Marrakech, we realized that a) our van seemed to lack air-conditioning… and the windows in our van did not seem to push out like other van windows did.
Ø Our driver blasted the Moroccan tunes, which I loved, but grew to hate because I think he played the same song over and over and over and over and over.
Ø Our group quickly resorted to singing Girl Scout songs and 100 bottles of beer in the van...and Billy got everyone to agree on the group name of “Hot Fez”. Shall I explain the joke? Fez is a city in Morocco, and it’s a take after the movie “Hot Fuzz”. Better?
Ø I felt like I was back on an elementary school field trip, which was actually kind of amusing. There were fifteen of us in this stuffy, cramped van belting out 90’s songs like no one was watching, and then making up a chant and count off for our newly acquired group… We would each say our number (I was 12), and then we would chant, “Hot Fez, Hot Fez, ya ya ya…” and then we would do the South African catcall… it was the most absurd, obnoxious, hilarious, tiresome thing I’ve encountered in a long time. And everyone participated, which was a miracle in and of itself.
Ø We arrived to Marrakech for lunch, and proceeded to eat lunch, which I did not eat much of. I was still getting over my Traveler’s Diarrhea.
Ø Then all 192ish of us checked into this hotel, which we thought would be amazing based on the really nice, marbled lobby and beautiful architecture.
Ø And then we got to our rooms. Michelle and I’s room was not that bad, actually. Our bathroom was extremely grungy, but that was about it. Emily and Lindsey and Paul came bursting into our room after about ten minutes, and they were all yelling and laughing about something. Apparently, Emily’s bed had blood stains in it (we saw pictures of proof), and their toilet would not flush, which I found quite humorous.
Ø Paul was having a nervous breakdown because of the heat and exhaustion, and he ended up laughing so hard that he grabbed a hold of our curtains and ripped them right from the window, which we all went into hysterics about. It was one big hysterics-fest, filled with sweat and tears and uncontrollable giggling.
Ø Then all the SASer’s met in the lobby to go to a “Fantasia folk show with dinner”. It was laughable. We went to this really nice palace-like place, which said it was the “Disney of Morocco”. Then we watched the horse “show” which consisted of men in tights galloping on the horses and firing off their guns. I think by the time the show was over, I was deaf and stupid.
Ø We went back to the hotel, and slept off the gun shots and ridiculous men.
Ø Michelle’s alarm went off at 5:45AM the following morning, and I rose to take a shower in the grimy bathroom, and when I got out, I think I might have felt dirtier than before I got in.
Ø It was going to take a rough 7.5 hours to drive from Marrakech to the Sahara… which we all dreaded because no one could switch vans. Which meant only one thing to Hot Fez; no air-conditioning in the pure desert heat for most of the day.
Ø We all switched seats off and on and tried to limit our Ipod consumption because we knew we would all run out of music battery before this trip was over.
Ø I ended up sprawled like a starfish on the luggage in the back, just to stretch out my legs. People took turns laying in the dirty aisle way of the van…
Ø We looked inside the other vans during our lunch break, and our eyes widened when we saw that every other van felt icy cold from the air conditioning, and had enough leg room between each row of seats to completely sprawl out, as needed. We also found out that many of the other vans were not filled to full passenger capacity… some only carried 7 or so people, when we had the smallest, smelliest van that carried 15 people, not including the driver. I think we all wanted to bawl and start a riot by this point.
Ø We ate lunch in the middle of nowhere at this restaurant that was hotter than our van, which made me want to lie down and die.
Ø We stopped at a rest stop sort of place that was part creepy diner, part snack stand because our van had to use the bathroom. So I waited and waited and waited and waited in line for my turn because I had to go so very bad and finally burst through the wooden door with urgency as soon as the last person came out.
Ø … it was like something out of a backwoods horror flick. There was no toilet, only a hole. So, out of panic and exhaustion, I ripped off my pants completely and tried to pee in the hole. This did not work at all. I have never wished to be a boy before, but at that moment, I wanted nothing more. I waddled out of the wooden stall, and asked to borrow someone’s hand sanitizer to not only clean my hands, but my legs and feet as well. It was the epitome of disgusting.
Ø We hopped back in the van and drove to this little Berber village that actually had a grocery store. All 195ish of the SASer’s bought vodka and beer and wine by the gallon. This should have been the first clue as to how the night was going to end up, but I didn’t think much of it then.
Ø We eventually made it to the outskirts of the Sahara 4 hours after our stop at the village, and we all rolled out of the van peeved and hot and ready for a cold shower. Sand blew into my mouth and eyes the moment I stepped out, and I tried to shield them both with a head scarf of Billy’s that I had made into a nice turban. It did not work.
Ø We hopped on our camels (some rode two to a camel, including Michelle and I), and we made the 1 hour trek to our nomad camp. We passed by these random closets of houses, with five or six dirty children standing around, staring at us. I felt so awful.
Ø Our camp, once we made it there, was actually very nicely set up and pretty sweet to stay in. We were in the middle of the desert, with about 100 angry camels and 10 men in turbans and long white dresses who I assumed to be the nomads. There were about 4 rows of tents, each sleeping 6 people, with little cots for beds, a wool blanket on each.
Ø We sat on the rugs, which blanketed the sand, and watched these men sing and dance and play instruments for us in the blazing heat as the sun slowly set.
Ø We ate our dinner, kind of, and then around 10pm, none of the people in our tent (me, Emily, Paul, Eric, Alex) could keep our eyes open, so we fell into our cots and stuck immediately to the wool blankets. I felt so dirty and sticky and grimy…and the heat was a little more than unbearable. We wondered when it would get cold… so I slept with my jacket on, zipped all the way up to my neck, with my hood up in fear that things might crawl over me while I was sleeping. I am sometimes paranoid about these things. Scarabs, sand fleas…you just never know.
Ø The beating drums and singing continued until midnight, so we were all laying there talking for about two hours, thinking that now we could finally close our eyes for good.
Ø And it was a big joke, maybe the biggest joke of all, to think that we were going to sleep that night. The SAS party, apparently, had just gotten started. Just as I was about to drift off, I heard drunk girls and guys going at it in the next tent over…then people were arguing, and saying things like, “F you”, “No, F you”, and people were screaming from other tents, “Well, why don’t you both just F and get it over with already!” and I don’t think I’ve ever heard such vulgarity in my entire life more than the kind of stuff I heard that night.
Ø This continued until 5 in the morning, and the camels started mooing at 6am sharp. I opened my eyes only to realize I hadn’t slept, and I was livid. Well, as livid as I could be with the kind of urgent exhaustion I felt.
Ø We all woke up and brushed our teeth with bottled water, spitting the sand out of our mouths into the dirt. Then I changed clothes, which probably wasn’t necessary, and put on some deodorant, and Michelle and I shared a camel once again to make the hour trek back to our heat-stroke van.
Ø It was not the kind of trip I thought it was going to be, to say the least. Five students got expelled from Semester at Sea for behaving in such a drunken, vulgar manner, and they are still stuck on the ship with us, but the credits for their classes will not transfer, and it will show up on their records that they were expelled from the program. I think they certainly deserved what they got, the SASholes.
Ø After fifteen minutes of riding in the van, my Ipod died and I was left to either sleep or stare out the window into the sand dunes and dust. I opted for staring out the window, because I don’t sleep on moving vehicles very well at all.
Ø For 4 hours, I stared out the window at the winding deserts and the beautiful majesty of the Atlas Mountains, and we stopped at a small Berber store, which is where I ended up falling in love. The drum I fell in love with is an authentic African Jembe made with a camel skin top, and it plays beautifully. I bought it on the spot, and smiled for the remaining 3.5 hours back to the hotel.
Ø We all ended up switching hotel rooms because we had to check out and re-check in for a second time…and just guess which room Michelle and I ended up in because we are just that amazing? The blood-stained, non-flushing toilet room. We practically shared a bed to not have to suffer with the nastiness. It was very foul.
Ø That night, we had some free time in Marrakech to shop at the famous Bazaar. ((Side note: on the very first day in Marrakech, before we checked into our hotel the first time, I ended up getting henna done on my right hand, and I don’t think the woman who did it could have ripped me off anymore than she did. I don’t want to talk about it.)
Ø So, a bunch of us hopped in a taxi and shopped in the Bazaar until almost 1am…then we took a horse and buggy back to the hotel, which would have been relaxing had there not been 7 people shoved on each other’s laps in the 4-person fitting buggy.
Ø We woke up the next morning, and then made the 3.5 hour trek back to the ship, weary, still exhausted, and very crabby.
Well, I’m sure I left out many important details, but you get the gist of the story. It was kind of a miserable trip, and we all can laugh about it now that it’s over and we don’t have to sit in the Hot Fez van ever, ever again. Everyone who went on the trip pretty much agreed that it was both hilariously absurd and painfully awful, and the people who didn’t even go on the trip are still talking about it, re-telling stories that their friends told them, etcetera.
I guess one of the vans stopped to pick up a hitchhiker along the way to the Sahara and then dropped the hitchhiker off after an hour of confusion. I can only guess how that story got recycled on the ship. Another van passed by three dead bodies on the side of the Atlas Mountains just as the police were covering them up with white sheets. We all experienced something different, and it was certainly a bond-worthy experience.
Can I just say that I’m glad to be out of the Sahara? Good grief.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Calm before the Storm
We are sitting in the middle of the Gibraltar Straight right now, which is the last stretch of Mediterranean Sea before we hit the Atlantic, and the good ‘ole MV Explorer is fueling up for the second time on this voyage. Tomorrow, we will be ported in Casablanca, Morocco, and I couldn’t be more thrilled. I am still in search of my African Drum (Jembe) and Morocco is our last stop in Africa…so this is finally my chance. I’ve been waiting for so long to finally lay eyes on my drum, and it’s so close, I can feel it.
I can’t believe I’m on the last stretch of this journey, this summer voyage, this 2.5 month excursion. This ship has been my home for a pretty long time, and I try to imagine life on a landlocked campus again, and it’s actually hard. Don’t get me wrong, I miss routine and PSU buddies and the lake effect snow, no doubt about it. But I’ve grown close to this shipboard community, and just like it was hard to leave my family and friends before this voyage, it’s going to be heartbreaking leaving the friends I’ve made this summer.
I’m going to miss the waves rocking me to sleep, and our amazing cabin steward, Achilles, who cleans our room every morning. I’m going to miss my professor, Michael Pearson, who taught me how to look at the world with the fresh eyes of a traveler. I’m going to miss staring out into the blue abyss that is the sea in the middle of the day, laughing at the dolphins trying to show off for us. I’m going to miss making friends with Italians and Pakistanis and Bulgarians. I’m going to miss not being carded as I walk into the bars. Ha. Just kidding.
I’m going to miss Dia Draper’s Voice over the intercom every day, “Good Morning, Voyagers!” I’m going to miss our Green Sheets, and the guest lecturers that are kind enough to inform us about diseases and terrorist bombings that are occurring in each country the day before we enter them. I’m going to miss the pasta and potatoes that are served for every single meal…not so much.
Let’s just say that I’m going to be homesick for this ship when I disembark. There was a week when we first sailed away from Halifax that I did not want to be on this voyage. I remember being so lonely, so nervous about not making friends, or not living life to its fullest in each country. I remember wanting to go home, to call my family, to be anywhere but the middle of the Atlantic. It seems so long ago.
I’m sitting here in the middle of the Gibraltar Straight, alone on deck 5, watching waves crash into rock, and waiting for Morocco. And soon enough, I will be sitting on this same deck, heading back home for the Atlantic Ocean, back to American soil. Life flies, doesn’t it? Life flies whether or not you are having fun. It flies when you are soaking every possible moment into your heart, and it flies when you are not paying attention. It flies, no doubt about it.
So, I’m going to ride my camel into the Saharan sunset, and let life fly through my fingers like the sand in an hourglass. I’m going to live life in Morocco and on the Atlantic until I’m not anymore, and then I will be seeing your smiling faces. : )
Bon Voyage!
A.
I can’t believe I’m on the last stretch of this journey, this summer voyage, this 2.5 month excursion. This ship has been my home for a pretty long time, and I try to imagine life on a landlocked campus again, and it’s actually hard. Don’t get me wrong, I miss routine and PSU buddies and the lake effect snow, no doubt about it. But I’ve grown close to this shipboard community, and just like it was hard to leave my family and friends before this voyage, it’s going to be heartbreaking leaving the friends I’ve made this summer.
I’m going to miss the waves rocking me to sleep, and our amazing cabin steward, Achilles, who cleans our room every morning. I’m going to miss my professor, Michael Pearson, who taught me how to look at the world with the fresh eyes of a traveler. I’m going to miss staring out into the blue abyss that is the sea in the middle of the day, laughing at the dolphins trying to show off for us. I’m going to miss making friends with Italians and Pakistanis and Bulgarians. I’m going to miss not being carded as I walk into the bars. Ha. Just kidding.
I’m going to miss Dia Draper’s Voice over the intercom every day, “Good Morning, Voyagers!” I’m going to miss our Green Sheets, and the guest lecturers that are kind enough to inform us about diseases and terrorist bombings that are occurring in each country the day before we enter them. I’m going to miss the pasta and potatoes that are served for every single meal…not so much.
Let’s just say that I’m going to be homesick for this ship when I disembark. There was a week when we first sailed away from Halifax that I did not want to be on this voyage. I remember being so lonely, so nervous about not making friends, or not living life to its fullest in each country. I remember wanting to go home, to call my family, to be anywhere but the middle of the Atlantic. It seems so long ago.
I’m sitting here in the middle of the Gibraltar Straight, alone on deck 5, watching waves crash into rock, and waiting for Morocco. And soon enough, I will be sitting on this same deck, heading back home for the Atlantic Ocean, back to American soil. Life flies, doesn’t it? Life flies whether or not you are having fun. It flies when you are soaking every possible moment into your heart, and it flies when you are not paying attention. It flies, no doubt about it.
So, I’m going to ride my camel into the Saharan sunset, and let life fly through my fingers like the sand in an hourglass. I’m going to live life in Morocco and on the Atlantic until I’m not anymore, and then I will be seeing your smiling faces. : )
Bon Voyage!
A.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Faith Renewal.
I was laying out the other day, trying to keep my tan, and this guy came over to lay out next to me. He pulled out a novel and began to read. After a while, I decided to ask him what he was reading.
He flipped the cover over to reveal a Shakespeare play. I grinned, and said I didn't know there was a Shakespeare class on the ship (because if there were, I might have enrolled myself in this class...), and he shook his head.
"No. There's not. I just haven't read much Shakespeare and thought I'd give it another go on my own."
My faith in the men on this ship has been renewed. Maybe all of the intelligent guys are lying out on the 5th deck, tanning and reading plays. I should probably tan more often...
He flipped the cover over to reveal a Shakespeare play. I grinned, and said I didn't know there was a Shakespeare class on the ship (because if there were, I might have enrolled myself in this class...), and he shook his head.
"No. There's not. I just haven't read much Shakespeare and thought I'd give it another go on my own."
My faith in the men on this ship has been renewed. Maybe all of the intelligent guys are lying out on the 5th deck, tanning and reading plays. I should probably tan more often...
Mt. Sinai Pics (Part Two)
Cheesin' it.
View in the morning
Rocky Trails.
Shadows.
Ahmed, my Camel Driver.Mt. Sinai Pics (Part One)
Adbul and I!
One of the Camel Drivers
Our sleeping arrangements
First glimpse of the sunrise
Friends.Thursday, August 6, 2009
Pyramids :)
The Great and Powerful Sphinx
Trying to pinpoint the pyramids
Turban?
Can you see us?
OooOooohhh...AhhhHhHhh!Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Egypt Day Five ((Sick as a...Camel?))
I woke up stiff and sore. My thighs and calves and arms and head and back hurt. My whole body ached with exhaustion and hunger. I woke up to Michelle getting ready to go to breakfast, and for once in my life, I actually slept through her alarm. I still surprise myself sometimes. Then I stepped out of my bed, and that’s when I felt it.
Stomach pangs surged through me, and my gut felt so tight that it hurt to breathe. I ran to the bathroom. I was basically a living and breathing zombie for the entire day. I stayed on the ship, in bed, only to go to the bathroom, as needed.
Need I mention that I shouldn’t have eaten that sandwich off of the side of the road? Traveler’s diarrhea is not something to be messed with. This is the first time I have gotten sick like this, this entire trip. I went to the doctor on staff and he basically told me what I already know. Keep hydrated, B.R.A.T diet, bed rest… you get the idea.
I am thankful that we have five days of class before we reach Morocco. My stomach and body need a break. I am so tired.
And on that note, sleep well folks. I am off to bed.
Stomach pangs surged through me, and my gut felt so tight that it hurt to breathe. I ran to the bathroom. I was basically a living and breathing zombie for the entire day. I stayed on the ship, in bed, only to go to the bathroom, as needed.
Need I mention that I shouldn’t have eaten that sandwich off of the side of the road? Traveler’s diarrhea is not something to be messed with. This is the first time I have gotten sick like this, this entire trip. I went to the doctor on staff and he basically told me what I already know. Keep hydrated, B.R.A.T diet, bed rest… you get the idea.
I am thankful that we have five days of class before we reach Morocco. My stomach and body need a break. I am so tired.
And on that note, sleep well folks. I am off to bed.
Egypt Day Four ((Sunrise, Sunrise, looks like morning in your eyes...))
…I did not sleep long. In the wee hours of the morning, I heard Michelle whisper groggily, “Are you guys cold?” Those few words were all it took for me and Liz to practically spoon Michelle and to pile all of our blankets (including our pillow blanket) on top of us as we lay together in one big heap of body warmth. It was freezing.
I had no idea that the desert got so cold at night. I knew that they gave us wool blankets for a reason, but good grief! When Liz’s watch alarm beeped at 5:17AM, we all scooted off of each other and acted as if we all woke up on our own mattress.
I sat up, my entire body stiff and aching with exhaustion and camel-ridden soreness, and then I looked around me. It was probably one of the most spectacular sunrises I’ve ever witnessed. Layers and layers of mountains blocked the reds and yellows illuminating from behind them. Instead of hastily grabbing my camera like the other girls, I found myself just sitting on the ledge and watching the sun come up. It was too serene, too beautiful to miss, even for a camera-grabbing moment.
We watched it for about an hour, and then we began the descent back down the Stairs of repentance. It was more terrifying walking down the stairs in the morning than walking up them in the night. If there is a fear of falling, I have it. I have no problems with heights or falling if I’m attached to something (i.e. roller coasters, skydiving, etc.), but when it comes to hiking, or even walking down narrow steps, I have an explicable fear of falling downdowndown. It’s terrible and weird, I know, but bear with me.
We hopped (well, I was carried) back onto the camels and began the painful, though exhilarating, trek down the mountain. This time, my camel was not the leader of the pack, but we took up the back. His name was whiskey, which I found to be very fitting to his personality.
We found a taxi at the end of St. Catherine’s Monastery, and we asked when we could catch the next bus to Cairo this morning. He laughed. He actually laughed. We looked at each other.
“The next bus to Cairo come six.”
“Six P.M?” We asked in unison.
“Six tomorrow in the morning!” He smiled proudly at us for using such well-said English.
No! No no no! We panicked for about 10.5 seconds, and then he offered to take us to a place where we could catch a bus on the way to Cairo for a decent amount of money. We took him up on his offer, not ever thinking that he might take us into the middle of the desert, pull over on the side of the road, and play Koran music while waving down each passing vehicle, which were few and far in between. Oh, but that’s what he did. It was amusing for a while, if only because it was so unbelievable. What kind of taxi would drive us two hours into the desert, and expect to find a passing bus traveling to Cairo? He was legit, alright.
Eventually (and this is after a good hour of sitting in the heat, in this taxi van), another van stopped and pulled over on the side of the road. A skinny, anorexic-looking kid with black curly hair sidled up to our van and smiled appreciatively at me. Our driver explained our situation and the kid looked at us, and spoke in broken English that he could drive us to Cairo for 300 pounds, total. That was an amazing deal, so we hopped into his van (after he took my bags and pushed me into the front seat with him, yuck). I turned around to talk to Michelle and Liz, and that’s when I noticed there were three men sitting also sitting in the back of the van.
They were very polite and spoke in polished English, which greatly surprised me. The one man closest to me whispered that Egyptians drive like nutcases, to which I couldn’t have agreed more, and I asked him where they were from, if not Egypt.
Pakistan. Three men from Pakistan, and my heart dropped. This van ride could not have gotten any shadier, and I chided myself for being so racist, so eager to peg these men for something. And would you believe that they actually turned out to be some of the nicest, most educated people I’ve met during this entire trip? We talked about religion, and Egypt, Semester at Sea, and their careers. A CEO for CNBC, a Unicef National Consultant for Health and Immunization, and a Corporate designer and manager for a company that alters labels, for instance, the Marlboro package of cigarettes. These men were among some of the wealthiest people, and here we were, honored to have four hours in a van to talk to them.
The Unicef Consultant confided in me, but not without asking me not to get offended for saying so, that he and his friends actually asked the driver to keep going, to not give the Americans a ride for fear an argument would flare up. I laughed. Then he heard that we were girls, students, and they agreed that the driver could stop. These Pakistani men had impressions about us too, and here we were, all growing on each other.
About two hours into the drive, we stopped at a rest stop and the men all bought us lunch, to which we were very thankful. We hadn’t eaten an actual meal in what seemed like forever. We hadn’t taken showers or brushed our teeth or deodorized ourselves in days. We were grungy. I smelled like camel poop and desert dirt and caked on sweat. How’s that for a description of my nastiness?
“If you ever need anything, you can give me a call.” The Unicef man smiled at me. “It was a pleasure.”
“If you ever come to Pakistan, you are welcome here!” The CEO shook my hand. I felt so honored, so grateful.
The skinny taxi driver then proceeded to rip us off, after taking us to a bank, he told us that we agreed to 300 pounds each. I died a little inside. We certainly did not agree on 300 a piece, and we argued with him, constantly asking him to explain the misunderstanding, but to no avail. We paid his price and he took us to a bus station.
We caught the bus to Alexandria, which was a long, exhausting 3 hour drive. We had been driving all day. I was more than ready to sleep in a comfortable bed, if only me cabin bed, and to eat a decent meal, and to get some alone time away from the smelliness of buses and the misunderstandings in the desert. On the way there, there was a 22 year old girl who was basically the stewardess of the bus. It was so sweet. She let me try an Egyptian drink for free, and she kept saying that anything we wanted, she would help us out. She only knew a few words in English though, so she asked these two young brothers to translate what she was saying to us. The one boy, who did not look a day over 11 when he was actually 14, ended up proposing to me. I laughed and told him in a few years. He and his brother giggled and kept coming back to speak in their English. It was sweet.
We finally, finally made it back to the ship around 9PM. I blew my nose when I got to the cabin, and the tissue was black. It was sickening. I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed away the scum that had layered itself on me, and I still felt dirty.
I fell into my bed with relief to be somewhere comfortable. I shut my eyes and drifted off with a smile on my face. What an adventure.
I had no idea that the desert got so cold at night. I knew that they gave us wool blankets for a reason, but good grief! When Liz’s watch alarm beeped at 5:17AM, we all scooted off of each other and acted as if we all woke up on our own mattress.
I sat up, my entire body stiff and aching with exhaustion and camel-ridden soreness, and then I looked around me. It was probably one of the most spectacular sunrises I’ve ever witnessed. Layers and layers of mountains blocked the reds and yellows illuminating from behind them. Instead of hastily grabbing my camera like the other girls, I found myself just sitting on the ledge and watching the sun come up. It was too serene, too beautiful to miss, even for a camera-grabbing moment.
We watched it for about an hour, and then we began the descent back down the Stairs of repentance. It was more terrifying walking down the stairs in the morning than walking up them in the night. If there is a fear of falling, I have it. I have no problems with heights or falling if I’m attached to something (i.e. roller coasters, skydiving, etc.), but when it comes to hiking, or even walking down narrow steps, I have an explicable fear of falling downdowndown. It’s terrible and weird, I know, but bear with me.
We hopped (well, I was carried) back onto the camels and began the painful, though exhilarating, trek down the mountain. This time, my camel was not the leader of the pack, but we took up the back. His name was whiskey, which I found to be very fitting to his personality.
We found a taxi at the end of St. Catherine’s Monastery, and we asked when we could catch the next bus to Cairo this morning. He laughed. He actually laughed. We looked at each other.
“The next bus to Cairo come six.”
“Six P.M?” We asked in unison.
“Six tomorrow in the morning!” He smiled proudly at us for using such well-said English.
No! No no no! We panicked for about 10.5 seconds, and then he offered to take us to a place where we could catch a bus on the way to Cairo for a decent amount of money. We took him up on his offer, not ever thinking that he might take us into the middle of the desert, pull over on the side of the road, and play Koran music while waving down each passing vehicle, which were few and far in between. Oh, but that’s what he did. It was amusing for a while, if only because it was so unbelievable. What kind of taxi would drive us two hours into the desert, and expect to find a passing bus traveling to Cairo? He was legit, alright.
Eventually (and this is after a good hour of sitting in the heat, in this taxi van), another van stopped and pulled over on the side of the road. A skinny, anorexic-looking kid with black curly hair sidled up to our van and smiled appreciatively at me. Our driver explained our situation and the kid looked at us, and spoke in broken English that he could drive us to Cairo for 300 pounds, total. That was an amazing deal, so we hopped into his van (after he took my bags and pushed me into the front seat with him, yuck). I turned around to talk to Michelle and Liz, and that’s when I noticed there were three men sitting also sitting in the back of the van.
They were very polite and spoke in polished English, which greatly surprised me. The one man closest to me whispered that Egyptians drive like nutcases, to which I couldn’t have agreed more, and I asked him where they were from, if not Egypt.
Pakistan. Three men from Pakistan, and my heart dropped. This van ride could not have gotten any shadier, and I chided myself for being so racist, so eager to peg these men for something. And would you believe that they actually turned out to be some of the nicest, most educated people I’ve met during this entire trip? We talked about religion, and Egypt, Semester at Sea, and their careers. A CEO for CNBC, a Unicef National Consultant for Health and Immunization, and a Corporate designer and manager for a company that alters labels, for instance, the Marlboro package of cigarettes. These men were among some of the wealthiest people, and here we were, honored to have four hours in a van to talk to them.
The Unicef Consultant confided in me, but not without asking me not to get offended for saying so, that he and his friends actually asked the driver to keep going, to not give the Americans a ride for fear an argument would flare up. I laughed. Then he heard that we were girls, students, and they agreed that the driver could stop. These Pakistani men had impressions about us too, and here we were, all growing on each other.
About two hours into the drive, we stopped at a rest stop and the men all bought us lunch, to which we were very thankful. We hadn’t eaten an actual meal in what seemed like forever. We hadn’t taken showers or brushed our teeth or deodorized ourselves in days. We were grungy. I smelled like camel poop and desert dirt and caked on sweat. How’s that for a description of my nastiness?
“If you ever need anything, you can give me a call.” The Unicef man smiled at me. “It was a pleasure.”
“If you ever come to Pakistan, you are welcome here!” The CEO shook my hand. I felt so honored, so grateful.
The skinny taxi driver then proceeded to rip us off, after taking us to a bank, he told us that we agreed to 300 pounds each. I died a little inside. We certainly did not agree on 300 a piece, and we argued with him, constantly asking him to explain the misunderstanding, but to no avail. We paid his price and he took us to a bus station.
We caught the bus to Alexandria, which was a long, exhausting 3 hour drive. We had been driving all day. I was more than ready to sleep in a comfortable bed, if only me cabin bed, and to eat a decent meal, and to get some alone time away from the smelliness of buses and the misunderstandings in the desert. On the way there, there was a 22 year old girl who was basically the stewardess of the bus. It was so sweet. She let me try an Egyptian drink for free, and she kept saying that anything we wanted, she would help us out. She only knew a few words in English though, so she asked these two young brothers to translate what she was saying to us. The one boy, who did not look a day over 11 when he was actually 14, ended up proposing to me. I laughed and told him in a few years. He and his brother giggled and kept coming back to speak in their English. It was sweet.
We finally, finally made it back to the ship around 9PM. I blew my nose when I got to the cabin, and the tissue was black. It was sickening. I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed away the scum that had layered itself on me, and I still felt dirty.
I fell into my bed with relief to be somewhere comfortable. I shut my eyes and drifted off with a smile on my face. What an adventure.
Egypt Day Three ((Steps of Repentance))
I woke up with a stiff back and neck from the hotel bed. I think it must have been a rock in its previous 1950’s history. We went down a few floors to grab some breakfast before starting our little adventure. After checking out of our room and taking a few pictures, we made our way to the bus station, which was very oddly situated on the basement floor of a mall. I’ve never seen anything like it. We bought some snacks and bottled waters and a one-way ticket to Mount Sinai, which boarded at 11AM.
We learned that the ride would take 7 long hours and a taxi ride or two before we would actually reach Mt. Sinai. I mentally prepared myself for this ride. My IPOD was sitting on the ship, dead, and I had brought a novel with me that I had to read for class, just in case. This would be a very long ride indeed.
Let me start by telling you a little bit about our bus. It was not a nice one. It was filthy, and reminded me of a city bus one might hop on to go from their home to the movie theater. The seats were not hard, but they were by no means comfortable. It smelled like unwashed feet and body odor and sweat. The seats were all stained with unmentionable things from years and years of use. The air condition did not really work at all, and the heat was very close to being unbearable.
Now, let me tell you about the people on the bus. There were about fifty Eagle Scouts in uniform in the back of the bus who looked American, but did not speak English. Then there were about fifty Army men in the front of the bus in uniform. Then there were the people that had to stand up for 7 straight hours in the aisle because there was literally no elbow room. It was ridiculous. Standing next to me I had an Army man, and an Egyptian civilian who had his nose stuck in an anatomy handbook. The stench was repulsive. The driver was crazy, and kept yelling and screaming to the people standing up in the aisles.
I caught myself falling asleep multiple times from the heat, and one time I woke up and found my head resting on the Army man’s stomach. Can I even begin to describe how embarrassing that was? After sitting on that bus for about 4 hours, the driver pulled off at some random shack with food, and we all piled out in our own little cliques (Army men, Boy scouts, Egyptian civilians, and us). I was so tired of eating junk food, and there was what looked like a sandwich stand where all of the Army men were standing around. I bought myself a “beef” sandwich, which I watched the kid grab me one without gloves, and serve on a metal plate with a few cooked carrots which he also grabbed with his bare hands. I ate the sandwich, which was the worst possible mistake I could have made. Then we all asked for a bathroom, and a little boy about Lacey’s age led us to the back of the building. We walked into this little shack of a bathroom and I grimaced.
We were in the absolute middle of the desert, nothing around anywhere as far as I could see. And I had to pee, of course. So as much as I tried not to look around, I couldn’t help it. The floor was sticky and wet. The sink had hair and other gross things stuck to it. It was dripping off-white water. Then I opened the wooden door to go to the bathroom, and I took a step back. There was no toilet. It was a hole in the ground. There were ants and other bugs crawling around the hole, and the smell was horrendous.
I walked out of that bathroom and back into the open air quicker than I ran to see the pyramids for the first time. I couldn’t pee over a hole. I became the master of holding it.
We drove another 3 hours on the raunchy bus, and after being hit on several times by different soldiers, I made small talk with the ones who spoke English. They were being shipped into the middle of the desert to make sure that no smuggling of people or things was going on where the police were not. They taught me a few words in Arabic, which is a very tricky language to learn, and I laughed with them until they got off of the bus.
Before we knew it, we had reached our destination. We were, once again, standing in the middle of nowhere on the side of the road watching the bus drive away into the heat. A couple from Namibia got off of the bus with us, and were also wanting to climb to the top of Mt. Sinai, so we got into a taxi with them and began to slowly make our way there. The man is actually the Diplomat for the Embassy in Namibia, which I found to be intriguing, and he wanted to bring his wife to the top of Mt. Sinai to be healed from some sickness that she had, which I found even more intriguing.
We passed St. Catherine’s Monastery, which is also pretty famous for the area, and walked up the hill between these beautifully ferocious desert mountains to start the trek. I had to really use the bathroom by that time, and one of the Camel drivers led me to a small wooden shack. I took a deep breath and opened the door. It was like death. There was an actual toilet this time, but seeing as how we were in the middle of the desert, there was no plumbing. There was dried diarrhea all over and down the seat, and even more bugs were flying around and crawling from this toilet. I thought about walking out, and holding it some more, but I doubted the toilets at the top of the mountain were any better than this one. So…. I went. *Shudder*
We ended up taking camels up the mountain because it was getting dark in the valley, and it would become very hard for us to see the trail. I figured riding a camel would be similar to riding a horse, and let me tell you how wrong I was. I did not realize that the person sat on top of the hump. I had always pictured camels having two humps, and the person would sit between them. The camel driver actually picked me up and plopped me on the hump, and I thought this might be a nice, relaxing ride up the mountain. Ha. Hahahahaha.
It took about 2.5 hours to reach most of the way to the top, and during that time, several things happened.
1. My thighs and back and body became sore and sore and sore, because riding a camel is not the same as riding a horse.
2. The Namibian couple kept arguing with the camel drivers and eventually got off their camels and walked back down the mountain. There were several communication issues that were not getting
resolved.
3. My camel was named Abdul, and had a mind of its own. The driver kept whipping it and shouting obscenities to make it slow down, because it was the leader of the pack and never wanted to stop. So Mr. Feisty just kept going and huffing up the hill, not listening to anybody.
4. Liz’s camel snotted all over me. It was so foul.
5. The one camel driver that was near me kept pointing to his mouth, like he was smoking. I thought we were playing charades, because he couldn’t speak a lick of English. So, I guessed “smoking?” and he shook his head, and then I guessed “hungry?” and he shook his head. And then he proceeded to pucker his lips at me, and I yelled out, “Kiss!” and he dropped the reigns to come over to me. I smacked Abdul and for once he listened and began to gallop in a camel-like way. I stopped playing charades and started playing Jockey.
When we finally reached most of the way to the top of Mt. Sinai, it was around 9PM. I got carried off of my camel and into a hut, which they called a “coffee shop”. Three men wearing white robes and turbans were slurping up rice from a metal pan, and there were no other tourists to be seen. We sat down, and they offered us some of their rice, which we declined. One of the men in the turbans who looked like he was in his sixties offered to lead us up the “Stairs of Repentance” because the camels could not take us up there, and that is the only way to get to the top of the mountain.
I didn’t really know what I was getting myself into. I said goodbye to Abdul, and the man with the turban (Mohammad), led us with a flashlight to the top of Mt. Sinai…
The Stairs of Repentance consists of 750 huge boulder stairs, plus some. These rocks may have been stable, but my goodness, it took every ounce of my being to reach the top without passing out from exhaustion or the collapsing of my lungs. I don’t think I’ve ever in my life hiked anything more difficult, to the point of wheezing and thinking I might just have an asthma attack than this. I was certainly repenting the entire way up. About three quarters of the way to the top, we rented dirty mattress pads and four wool blankets to sleep on.
And finally, finalllllly, we made it to the top. I fell down on my mattress pad and tried to suck in the air, only to realize that there was no air this high up. I ended up wheezing and hacking and chugging my bottle of warm water to try and calm my burning lungs.
It was around 10PM and I could only see the outlines and shadows of the mountain range and valleys that swerved in between. It was beautiful. We each took our mattress pad and blanket and lay on the rock, using the 4th blanket as a pillow for our heads.
I’ve never heard silence like I heard that night. It was glorious. It was deafening. I watched the stars and briefly thought about the fact that my friends and family in America still hadn’t seen the sun set. It was so weird to fathom that I am living in the future and they are living in the past. Even though that wasn’t actually the case, it sure felt that way. I was so at peace it was unreal. I closed my eyes and began to drift off into the kind of bliss that might only be found on top of a mountain with friends…
We learned that the ride would take 7 long hours and a taxi ride or two before we would actually reach Mt. Sinai. I mentally prepared myself for this ride. My IPOD was sitting on the ship, dead, and I had brought a novel with me that I had to read for class, just in case. This would be a very long ride indeed.
Let me start by telling you a little bit about our bus. It was not a nice one. It was filthy, and reminded me of a city bus one might hop on to go from their home to the movie theater. The seats were not hard, but they were by no means comfortable. It smelled like unwashed feet and body odor and sweat. The seats were all stained with unmentionable things from years and years of use. The air condition did not really work at all, and the heat was very close to being unbearable.
Now, let me tell you about the people on the bus. There were about fifty Eagle Scouts in uniform in the back of the bus who looked American, but did not speak English. Then there were about fifty Army men in the front of the bus in uniform. Then there were the people that had to stand up for 7 straight hours in the aisle because there was literally no elbow room. It was ridiculous. Standing next to me I had an Army man, and an Egyptian civilian who had his nose stuck in an anatomy handbook. The stench was repulsive. The driver was crazy, and kept yelling and screaming to the people standing up in the aisles.
I caught myself falling asleep multiple times from the heat, and one time I woke up and found my head resting on the Army man’s stomach. Can I even begin to describe how embarrassing that was? After sitting on that bus for about 4 hours, the driver pulled off at some random shack with food, and we all piled out in our own little cliques (Army men, Boy scouts, Egyptian civilians, and us). I was so tired of eating junk food, and there was what looked like a sandwich stand where all of the Army men were standing around. I bought myself a “beef” sandwich, which I watched the kid grab me one without gloves, and serve on a metal plate with a few cooked carrots which he also grabbed with his bare hands. I ate the sandwich, which was the worst possible mistake I could have made. Then we all asked for a bathroom, and a little boy about Lacey’s age led us to the back of the building. We walked into this little shack of a bathroom and I grimaced.
We were in the absolute middle of the desert, nothing around anywhere as far as I could see. And I had to pee, of course. So as much as I tried not to look around, I couldn’t help it. The floor was sticky and wet. The sink had hair and other gross things stuck to it. It was dripping off-white water. Then I opened the wooden door to go to the bathroom, and I took a step back. There was no toilet. It was a hole in the ground. There were ants and other bugs crawling around the hole, and the smell was horrendous.
I walked out of that bathroom and back into the open air quicker than I ran to see the pyramids for the first time. I couldn’t pee over a hole. I became the master of holding it.
We drove another 3 hours on the raunchy bus, and after being hit on several times by different soldiers, I made small talk with the ones who spoke English. They were being shipped into the middle of the desert to make sure that no smuggling of people or things was going on where the police were not. They taught me a few words in Arabic, which is a very tricky language to learn, and I laughed with them until they got off of the bus.
Before we knew it, we had reached our destination. We were, once again, standing in the middle of nowhere on the side of the road watching the bus drive away into the heat. A couple from Namibia got off of the bus with us, and were also wanting to climb to the top of Mt. Sinai, so we got into a taxi with them and began to slowly make our way there. The man is actually the Diplomat for the Embassy in Namibia, which I found to be intriguing, and he wanted to bring his wife to the top of Mt. Sinai to be healed from some sickness that she had, which I found even more intriguing.
We passed St. Catherine’s Monastery, which is also pretty famous for the area, and walked up the hill between these beautifully ferocious desert mountains to start the trek. I had to really use the bathroom by that time, and one of the Camel drivers led me to a small wooden shack. I took a deep breath and opened the door. It was like death. There was an actual toilet this time, but seeing as how we were in the middle of the desert, there was no plumbing. There was dried diarrhea all over and down the seat, and even more bugs were flying around and crawling from this toilet. I thought about walking out, and holding it some more, but I doubted the toilets at the top of the mountain were any better than this one. So…. I went. *Shudder*
We ended up taking camels up the mountain because it was getting dark in the valley, and it would become very hard for us to see the trail. I figured riding a camel would be similar to riding a horse, and let me tell you how wrong I was. I did not realize that the person sat on top of the hump. I had always pictured camels having two humps, and the person would sit between them. The camel driver actually picked me up and plopped me on the hump, and I thought this might be a nice, relaxing ride up the mountain. Ha. Hahahahaha.
It took about 2.5 hours to reach most of the way to the top, and during that time, several things happened.
1. My thighs and back and body became sore and sore and sore, because riding a camel is not the same as riding a horse.
2. The Namibian couple kept arguing with the camel drivers and eventually got off their camels and walked back down the mountain. There were several communication issues that were not getting
resolved.
3. My camel was named Abdul, and had a mind of its own. The driver kept whipping it and shouting obscenities to make it slow down, because it was the leader of the pack and never wanted to stop. So Mr. Feisty just kept going and huffing up the hill, not listening to anybody.
4. Liz’s camel snotted all over me. It was so foul.
5. The one camel driver that was near me kept pointing to his mouth, like he was smoking. I thought we were playing charades, because he couldn’t speak a lick of English. So, I guessed “smoking?” and he shook his head, and then I guessed “hungry?” and he shook his head. And then he proceeded to pucker his lips at me, and I yelled out, “Kiss!” and he dropped the reigns to come over to me. I smacked Abdul and for once he listened and began to gallop in a camel-like way. I stopped playing charades and started playing Jockey.
When we finally reached most of the way to the top of Mt. Sinai, it was around 9PM. I got carried off of my camel and into a hut, which they called a “coffee shop”. Three men wearing white robes and turbans were slurping up rice from a metal pan, and there were no other tourists to be seen. We sat down, and they offered us some of their rice, which we declined. One of the men in the turbans who looked like he was in his sixties offered to lead us up the “Stairs of Repentance” because the camels could not take us up there, and that is the only way to get to the top of the mountain.
I didn’t really know what I was getting myself into. I said goodbye to Abdul, and the man with the turban (Mohammad), led us with a flashlight to the top of Mt. Sinai…
The Stairs of Repentance consists of 750 huge boulder stairs, plus some. These rocks may have been stable, but my goodness, it took every ounce of my being to reach the top without passing out from exhaustion or the collapsing of my lungs. I don’t think I’ve ever in my life hiked anything more difficult, to the point of wheezing and thinking I might just have an asthma attack than this. I was certainly repenting the entire way up. About three quarters of the way to the top, we rented dirty mattress pads and four wool blankets to sleep on.
And finally, finalllllly, we made it to the top. I fell down on my mattress pad and tried to suck in the air, only to realize that there was no air this high up. I ended up wheezing and hacking and chugging my bottle of warm water to try and calm my burning lungs.
It was around 10PM and I could only see the outlines and shadows of the mountain range and valleys that swerved in between. It was beautiful. We each took our mattress pad and blanket and lay on the rock, using the 4th blanket as a pillow for our heads.
I’ve never heard silence like I heard that night. It was glorious. It was deafening. I watched the stars and briefly thought about the fact that my friends and family in America still hadn’t seen the sun set. It was so weird to fathom that I am living in the future and they are living in the past. Even though that wasn’t actually the case, it sure felt that way. I was so at peace it was unreal. I closed my eyes and began to drift off into the kind of bliss that might only be found on top of a mountain with friends…
Egypt Day Two ((Cairo, a place of never-ending wonders))
The day that I had been waiting for had finally arrived. I woke up at 7AM ready to witness the indescribable majesty of the pyramids, of the Nile, of the most talked about place in all of Egypt. Michelle, Liz, and I hopped on the bus with about 100 other SASer’s and took the 2.5 hour ride to Cairo.
...and there we were. I stared out my window, and eagerly collected my belongings, Michelle, and Liz and practically ran off of the bus in an excited stupor. They were just as magical as I saw in movies, and read about in novels, and heard about from people. I had expectations upon arrival, of course, but they exceeded my expectations. I walked around to the front of the largest pyramid and just stared at it, my mouth agape. The entrance to it was this tiny little hole that guards with guns stood at to make sure the people going in had paid their entrance fees. I climbed up the bottom stones and made my way to the hole in hopes that I could just give the guards cash and go inside. We only had 45 minutes to stay at the pyramids before we had to get back on the bus, and I had no time to run all the way down the hill to purchase a ticket, so I guess I was hoping to just go without one. The guards just looked at me and smiled. The language barrier was too thick and they kept saying “Ticket? Ticket?”. I sadly climbed back down the pyramid that I had so badly wanted to go inside. This Austrian couple had tried to do the same thing, and the woman smiled at me. In broken English, she told me that her boyfriend had been inside before and that there was nothing spectacular to see. This made me feel an itsy bit better about not being able to go. I told her Salzburg was beautiful.
I took a million+ pictures that don’t do the pyramids justice whatsoever, and hopped back on the bus to go see the Sphinx.
I guess I was expecting it to be way bigger than it was. The pictures I’ve seen make it look so incredibly huge that when we walked almost right up to it, I blinked and shook my head, thinking that there must be more. It was amazing, don’t get me wrong, but after being awe-inspired by the pyramids, this Sphinx looked itsy-bitsy. I took a million pictures of it, too, and then proceeded to buy tickets for that night’s performance of the “Sound and Light Show”. Michelle, Liz, and I were not planning on leaving with the other SASer’s to go back to Alexandria because we had other things in mind. So we purchased our tickets for the 8:30pm show and got back on the bus.
The bus stopped at this five-star hotel for lunch, and as we got off, there was an actual marching band playing for us. I felt mortified and honored. I’ve never had a band play while I was walking into a hotel before. It was quite the experience. We ate and ate and left with full stomachs ready for the museum that held King Tut’s famous gold mask.
Our tour guide on the bus led us around the museum for a little while before setting us free to check the place out for ourselves. She showed us the slab of cement where ancient Egyptians used to mummify the bodies of the deceased, and as she was explaining it to us, she pointed out that I had my hands in the bowl where they would drain all of the fluids from the body. I kind of wanted to throw up.
Then we saw the pure golden throne that King Tut and many rulers before him had sat on. We saw the many different kinds of jewelry that the women of the time used to wear, including fifteen pound earrings made out of pure gold. It was so incredible. Then…. then came King Tut’s many sarcophaguses and his famous golden mask. It was unbelievable how well it had been preserved and kept over so many centuries. The mask was beautiful, as were all of his sarcophaguses, the outlines were so intricate and wonderfully crafted.
When we were done with our tour, I made my way to the room filled with the mummies of the less famous kings. King Tut’s actual mummy is in Luxor, which we weren’t going to have time to see, so I really wanted to go into this mummy room to make up for it. Our guide did not mention that we might want to bring some money into the museum because there were special rooms that we had to pay to go into, so I had left everything on the bus for safe keeping. I went through the trouble of borrowing 60 pounds from my professor, who happened to be on the trip, and another girl’s student ID to get a discounted price on the entry fee. I walked up to the desk, and after fifteen minutes of semi-arguing with the guy at the desk, I figured out that my professor had given me 50 Piaistres, which is like 50 cents. Egyptian money has “cents” in the paper and coin form, and my professor and I had no idea about this before he gave me the money. So, I never got to see the actual mummies, but that was okay. I concluded that I have to come back to Cairo to go into the pyramids another time, and I will see the mummies then, too.
Michelle, Liz, and I grabbed our bags from the SAS bus, and waved goodbye as they headed back to Alexandria and we to find a hotel in Cairo. Our plan was to spend the night in Cairo, find a bus the next day that would take us to Mt. Sinai (where Moses received the Ten Commandments from God), and to sleep outside on the top of the mountain. So, off we walked around Cairo with no definite plans or places to sleep or bus tickets in our hands. We were planning as we went.
We ended up staying in this 1950’s hotel called The Windsor, and is actually famous for filming a movie called “Around the World in 80 Days”, as well as for hosting some of the cast members from Monty Python. The elevator that took us to the 4th floor was like the elevator in Titanic. It was rickety and had metal bars that the elevator man pulled shut, and then he proceeded to shut another set of doors manually before we went up. Our room had three single beds that were as hard as cement on our backs. It was quite the place.
A van came to pick us up at 7:30pm to take us back to the Giza pyramids to watch the Sound and Light Show. A bunch of SASer’s were there on a trip, and we prided ourselves in figuring out Cairo for ourselves. It was more fun that way, anyway. We had bought VIP tickets for the show, which meant that we had seats in the very front row and transportation to and from our hotel before and after the show. It was pretty sweet. The show itself was interesting. Different voices thundered over a loud speaker and as we sat in front of the pyramids and the Sphinx, everything was lit up according to what the voices were saying. (Wow, that sounded pretty Schizophrenic). It was a bit cheesy at times, but I am very glad that we got to see the pyramids lit up at night.
Then we proceeded to go back to our hotel and crash. We had no idea where the next day would take us.
...and there we were. I stared out my window, and eagerly collected my belongings, Michelle, and Liz and practically ran off of the bus in an excited stupor. They were just as magical as I saw in movies, and read about in novels, and heard about from people. I had expectations upon arrival, of course, but they exceeded my expectations. I walked around to the front of the largest pyramid and just stared at it, my mouth agape. The entrance to it was this tiny little hole that guards with guns stood at to make sure the people going in had paid their entrance fees. I climbed up the bottom stones and made my way to the hole in hopes that I could just give the guards cash and go inside. We only had 45 minutes to stay at the pyramids before we had to get back on the bus, and I had no time to run all the way down the hill to purchase a ticket, so I guess I was hoping to just go without one. The guards just looked at me and smiled. The language barrier was too thick and they kept saying “Ticket? Ticket?”. I sadly climbed back down the pyramid that I had so badly wanted to go inside. This Austrian couple had tried to do the same thing, and the woman smiled at me. In broken English, she told me that her boyfriend had been inside before and that there was nothing spectacular to see. This made me feel an itsy bit better about not being able to go. I told her Salzburg was beautiful.
I took a million+ pictures that don’t do the pyramids justice whatsoever, and hopped back on the bus to go see the Sphinx.
I guess I was expecting it to be way bigger than it was. The pictures I’ve seen make it look so incredibly huge that when we walked almost right up to it, I blinked and shook my head, thinking that there must be more. It was amazing, don’t get me wrong, but after being awe-inspired by the pyramids, this Sphinx looked itsy-bitsy. I took a million pictures of it, too, and then proceeded to buy tickets for that night’s performance of the “Sound and Light Show”. Michelle, Liz, and I were not planning on leaving with the other SASer’s to go back to Alexandria because we had other things in mind. So we purchased our tickets for the 8:30pm show and got back on the bus.
The bus stopped at this five-star hotel for lunch, and as we got off, there was an actual marching band playing for us. I felt mortified and honored. I’ve never had a band play while I was walking into a hotel before. It was quite the experience. We ate and ate and left with full stomachs ready for the museum that held King Tut’s famous gold mask.
Our tour guide on the bus led us around the museum for a little while before setting us free to check the place out for ourselves. She showed us the slab of cement where ancient Egyptians used to mummify the bodies of the deceased, and as she was explaining it to us, she pointed out that I had my hands in the bowl where they would drain all of the fluids from the body. I kind of wanted to throw up.
Then we saw the pure golden throne that King Tut and many rulers before him had sat on. We saw the many different kinds of jewelry that the women of the time used to wear, including fifteen pound earrings made out of pure gold. It was so incredible. Then…. then came King Tut’s many sarcophaguses and his famous golden mask. It was unbelievable how well it had been preserved and kept over so many centuries. The mask was beautiful, as were all of his sarcophaguses, the outlines were so intricate and wonderfully crafted.
When we were done with our tour, I made my way to the room filled with the mummies of the less famous kings. King Tut’s actual mummy is in Luxor, which we weren’t going to have time to see, so I really wanted to go into this mummy room to make up for it. Our guide did not mention that we might want to bring some money into the museum because there were special rooms that we had to pay to go into, so I had left everything on the bus for safe keeping. I went through the trouble of borrowing 60 pounds from my professor, who happened to be on the trip, and another girl’s student ID to get a discounted price on the entry fee. I walked up to the desk, and after fifteen minutes of semi-arguing with the guy at the desk, I figured out that my professor had given me 50 Piaistres, which is like 50 cents. Egyptian money has “cents” in the paper and coin form, and my professor and I had no idea about this before he gave me the money. So, I never got to see the actual mummies, but that was okay. I concluded that I have to come back to Cairo to go into the pyramids another time, and I will see the mummies then, too.
Michelle, Liz, and I grabbed our bags from the SAS bus, and waved goodbye as they headed back to Alexandria and we to find a hotel in Cairo. Our plan was to spend the night in Cairo, find a bus the next day that would take us to Mt. Sinai (where Moses received the Ten Commandments from God), and to sleep outside on the top of the mountain. So, off we walked around Cairo with no definite plans or places to sleep or bus tickets in our hands. We were planning as we went.
We ended up staying in this 1950’s hotel called The Windsor, and is actually famous for filming a movie called “Around the World in 80 Days”, as well as for hosting some of the cast members from Monty Python. The elevator that took us to the 4th floor was like the elevator in Titanic. It was rickety and had metal bars that the elevator man pulled shut, and then he proceeded to shut another set of doors manually before we went up. Our room had three single beds that were as hard as cement on our backs. It was quite the place.
A van came to pick us up at 7:30pm to take us back to the Giza pyramids to watch the Sound and Light Show. A bunch of SASer’s were there on a trip, and we prided ourselves in figuring out Cairo for ourselves. It was more fun that way, anyway. We had bought VIP tickets for the show, which meant that we had seats in the very front row and transportation to and from our hotel before and after the show. It was pretty sweet. The show itself was interesting. Different voices thundered over a loud speaker and as we sat in front of the pyramids and the Sphinx, everything was lit up according to what the voices were saying. (Wow, that sounded pretty Schizophrenic). It was a bit cheesy at times, but I am very glad that we got to see the pyramids lit up at night.
Then we proceeded to go back to our hotel and crash. We had no idea where the next day would take us.
Egypt Day One ((Well...It's not Naples...))
Whoever told me that Egypt is not a humid country flat out lied. When I walked outside to eat breakfast on the deck, this is the first thing I thought to myself as beads of sweat dripped like rain on my eggs.
Alexandria is a hot, hot place. I believe it’s the third largest city in Egypt, and the overpopulated, trash-ridden streets certainly denote this fact. Emily, Michelle, Carrie, and I walked around in linen pants and baggy shirts and big hats, because we were told that Egypt is known for its catcalls and marriage proposals to young, touristy women.
It was an interesting day… we walked around the very large city in search of Alexandria’s very famous library. I want to say that it was the very first library to ever be built…but that might be a lie. It was a first of some kind, maybe it was the oldest? Regardless, we found it about an hour after leaving the port and I stood in awe. It was the shape of a half-circle and lifted off of the ground to face the sunset. It was beautiful. Every structure and inscription had meaning. We bought our tickets to go inside and joined a tour group to be taken around and shown about. The lady gave us so much information that I can’t really recall much of anything she said, but it was a gorgeous place, that’s for sure. I love libraries.
We then proceeded to walk around trying to find lunch, and the girls decided on Pizza Hut. Up to this point in my voyage, I had not eaten any American food, aside from ship food (which does not count as American food…) Carrie and I ordered a medium stuffed-crust pizza with mushrooms and sausage and it was really yummy – not Pizza Hut yummy, but yummy for what it was worth. I then scolded myself for giving in to Americanized restaurants, but all of the other food establishments around the area were in Arabic, and the menus were unreadable. I told myself we had no other choice.
We walked around some more before finding a taxi to take us to a famous pillar on the opposite side of Alex. The driver did not understand what we were saying and took us to some random stadium far away from the pillar and our ship. We hailed another taxi that semi-understood where we wanted to go, and he took us there, but not without proposing to Carrie on the way. It was humorous. She got all flustered and tried to laugh it off.
We had an archeologist that worked around the site take us around and down underneath the pillar to where the people used to hide important documents and mummified animals. He showed us the bull that pagans around the time used to bring sacrifices to and worship until the Christians came in and told them to stop worshipping idols. It was quite the history lesson. The pillar was erected as an icon of worship as well. People call it the mini-Pompeii.
We took another taxi to the ship around 5pm because Alexandria had drained us all. It was not the kind of place to just aimlessly walk around, like some of the other ports we have been to. The heat was annoying and draining as well, so we took an early night and just lounged around waiting for Cairo the next day.
Alexandria is a hot, hot place. I believe it’s the third largest city in Egypt, and the overpopulated, trash-ridden streets certainly denote this fact. Emily, Michelle, Carrie, and I walked around in linen pants and baggy shirts and big hats, because we were told that Egypt is known for its catcalls and marriage proposals to young, touristy women.
It was an interesting day… we walked around the very large city in search of Alexandria’s very famous library. I want to say that it was the very first library to ever be built…but that might be a lie. It was a first of some kind, maybe it was the oldest? Regardless, we found it about an hour after leaving the port and I stood in awe. It was the shape of a half-circle and lifted off of the ground to face the sunset. It was beautiful. Every structure and inscription had meaning. We bought our tickets to go inside and joined a tour group to be taken around and shown about. The lady gave us so much information that I can’t really recall much of anything she said, but it was a gorgeous place, that’s for sure. I love libraries.
We then proceeded to walk around trying to find lunch, and the girls decided on Pizza Hut. Up to this point in my voyage, I had not eaten any American food, aside from ship food (which does not count as American food…) Carrie and I ordered a medium stuffed-crust pizza with mushrooms and sausage and it was really yummy – not Pizza Hut yummy, but yummy for what it was worth. I then scolded myself for giving in to Americanized restaurants, but all of the other food establishments around the area were in Arabic, and the menus were unreadable. I told myself we had no other choice.
We walked around some more before finding a taxi to take us to a famous pillar on the opposite side of Alex. The driver did not understand what we were saying and took us to some random stadium far away from the pillar and our ship. We hailed another taxi that semi-understood where we wanted to go, and he took us there, but not without proposing to Carrie on the way. It was humorous. She got all flustered and tried to laugh it off.
We had an archeologist that worked around the site take us around and down underneath the pillar to where the people used to hide important documents and mummified animals. He showed us the bull that pagans around the time used to bring sacrifices to and worship until the Christians came in and told them to stop worshipping idols. It was quite the history lesson. The pillar was erected as an icon of worship as well. People call it the mini-Pompeii.
We took another taxi to the ship around 5pm because Alexandria had drained us all. It was not the kind of place to just aimlessly walk around, like some of the other ports we have been to. The heat was annoying and draining as well, so we took an early night and just lounged around waiting for Cairo the next day.
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