TravelStream™ news feed for member jes242 on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/jes242 en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Mon, 10 Aug 2009 12:09:19 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jes242/2/1249920286/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jes242/2/1249920286/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jes242/2/1249920286/tpod.html Mon, 10 Aug 2009 12:09:19 -0400 Ibn Battuta the Second

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Jerusalem, Yerushalayim, Israel

I know it's been a long time since I've updated the blog. In fact, since my post on Lebanon I have visited Syria, Jordan, and Israel before returning home. I've been caught up looking for a job but I hope to eventually finish writing about my trip. In the meantime, here's an article about my family's visit to an Absorption Center in Israel that helps Ethiopians who have become Israel citizens learn Hebrew and acclimate to Israeli culture.

http://www.jewishagency.org/JewishAgency/English/About/Updates/Highlights/Archive/2009/aug10.htm?variety=hp

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Beirut, Lebanon



[Since writing this post, Lebanon hosted a safe and successful election. The pro-Western and incumbent coalition defeated the Hezbollah led coalition soundly. In a country where people vote primarily on religious affiliation, the deciding factor was the Christian vote. Normally split between the two coalitions, Christians overwhelmingly choose to side with the Sunni politician Hariri over Shi’ite Hezbollah. While President Obama’s recent speech may have had caused some of this shift, the Maronite Church’s last minute endorsement of the pro-Western coalition is considered to have turned the tide against Hezbollah and their unlikely Christian ally, Michel Aoun.]


Take a moment. Close your eyes. And think about the Middle East. Most of you will likely conjure a very similar image. Perhaps one of oil and its decadence or one of sand and its grittiness. Maybe one of religious extremism and its deadliness or one of political affiliation and its intransigence. And without a doubt, there’s a camel or two in that image somewhere.


These motifs - or stereotypes - stem from a few culprit sources, most notably sound byte news coverage and favorite romantic tales of thieves, genie lamps, and silken princesses. Like many stereotypes, there is certainly a kernel of truth to them. After all, sound bytes may distort or simplify, but they do not fabricate. And Arabic storytellers regaled eager audiences with the adventures of Aladdin centuries before Disney brought him to “A Whole New World.” The problem arises when we rely on these stereotypes for anything more than fairy tales. In real life, kernels of truth do not suffice and simplifications often obfuscate more than they illuminate. This point was driven home during my recent trip to Lebanon, a country that debunks almost all of the usual Middle Eastern stereotypes. So in the following, let me tell you about the real Lebanon.


For one, Lebanon is not a desert wasteland, but a country of numerous natural wonders. Most of Lebanon’s cities lay within a narrow strip of land, bounded by mountains to the east and the rocky coast of the Mediterranean to the west. Only fifty meters from the cliffs of Beirut, two limestone pillars called the Pigeon Rocks jut out from the sea, reminiscent of the renown beauty of Halong Bay in Vietnam. For only some spare change, local fisherman charter their boats to explore their inner-workings and the nearby system of sea caves that tunnel underneath the capital. But the most famous cave is found about an hour north of Beirut in Jeita. Visitors can explore the massive Grotto by boat, exploring an underground river that hearkens the spirit of the River Styx as you float ever deeper into the bowels of the earth. Located further north near the birthplace of author Khalil Gibran, stand the ancient cedar forests as they have for countless millennia. When King Solomon ordered the construction of his temple with the finest wood, his craftsmen came to this very Lebanese forest. After wandering beneath and through their ancient boughs with only the birds to keep my company, I understood why the Lebanese have placed the cedar on their flag as their national symbol. To the east, lies the Bekaa Valley, a land of rolling farms, green grazing pastures and bountiful vineyards.


Of course, the Bekaa Valley receives significant press coverage for a reason far removed from its natural beauty. It happens to be a stronghold of Hezbollah, which brings us to our next truth: Lebanon is not an extremist country. That is not to say there are not extremists in Lebanon - there are. Until the attacks on September 11th, Hezbollah killed more Americans than any other terrorist organization. Today, the militant arm of Hezbollah (Party of God) is highly-trained, well-financed, and more effective than the Lebanese national army. Furthermore, while the American government considers Hezbollah a terrorist organization, the party enjoys widespread support not just in Lebanon but throughout the Middle East. Walking by a toy-store one day, I noticed several sheets of stickers for sale of all the classic favorites: Winnie the Pooh, Cinderella, Aladdin, and the like. But one sticker sheet seemed out of place despite its central location. In neat sticker rows stared the beady-eyes and bushy-beard of Nasrallah, the soft-spoken leader of Hezbollah. I paused for a moment to wonder how many children sported the latest Hezbollah sticker on their X-Men lunchboxes before continuing on my search for a falafel stand.


We will see a true test of Hezbollah’s popularity on June 7th, the day of the Lebanese elections. The race is so close even the experts dare not predict a winner. In other words, there is a significant chance Hezbollah will win the elections a few weeks from now. Some might cite this chance as irrefutable proof of Lebanese extremism. However, there are a few problems with that logic. First, Lebanese politics is not a winner-take-all affair like with our Presidential elections. By the Lebanese constitution, the President must be a Christian, the Prime Minister a Sunni, and the Speaker of the Parliament a Shi’ite (Hezbollah falls in this category). They call it confessionalism - I call it religious checks and balances. Either way, Hezbollah cannot constitutionally control the Lebanese government. Second, as part of the confessionalist system, parties run in religiously diverse coalitions. Hezbollah has teamed up with General Aoun, a Christian veteran of the civil war and longtime political leader. I met several Christian Lebanese who will vote for the Hezbollah coalition because of General Aoun; many of them believe Hezbollah will only disarm once they feel politically empowered. Of course, others find this idea ridiculous. Third, Hezbollah is not the Taliban. They do not impose their cultural and religious values on others - at least not to nearly the same extent. I once saw a mixed crowd of Lebanese in bathing suits drinking beer at the beach underneath a Hezbollah poster. Meanwhile, I assure you there is no beer, mixed crowds, or bathing suits in the Swat Valley. Fourth and most importantly, Hezbollah’s garners much of its support through its domestic programs. Many Lebanese rely entirely on Hezbollah for education, healthcare, and even food in areas where the government will not or cannot reach. In short, Hezbollah is far more than just a terrorist organization and wholly different than other terror groups we usually deal with. Our policy towards them should therefore be as subtle and specific to the Lebanese climate as possible.


One day while driving through a Hezbollah stronghold in the south of Lebanon, I was thinking about how our government and media might react to a Hezbollah-coalition victory. I wondered how politicians and news anchors might synthesize the immense complexity of Lebanese politics into one pithy byline. I came to the unfortunate realization that many would not even try. I can already imagine several stump speeches about how a terrorist organization controls a country of self-evidently extremist citizens. I’d like to invite those individuals to drive down the same street I currently navigated. Signs advertising all the political parties lined the road on either side, but most belonged to Hezbollah and Amal, another Shi’ite party. Corroborating the extremist position, a minority of the posters depicted martyrs and suicide martyrs who have died fighting (and terrorizing) Israel. These signs are easily recognizable by their sun-faded colors and pictures of grim men and sometimes teenagers staring blankly into the divine distance. But the vast majority of Hezbollah posters - and almost all of the new ones recently posted - are brightly colored yellow and include the latest political slogans and platforms. They talk of anti-corruption, of change, and of national unity. One stuck out from the others. The words “Your Lebanon, their Lebanon, my Lebanon” were all crossed out and replaced with “Our Lebanon. One nation for all Lebanese.” We must consider these words when trying to understand how Hezbollah rallies so much popularity in the region. After all, such patriotic sentiment must resonate deeply in a country still recovering from its horrific and fractious civil war.



This brings us to our next myth: Lebanon is a war-torn country. There are certainly parts of Lebanon that still resemble a war zone. While driving to a winery in the Bekaa Valley, a base for Hezbollah influence, we had to take a detour around a bridge destroyed by Israeli warplanes in 2006. That same week a child was maimed by a previously un-detonated Israeli cluster bomb. During the recent war, Israel dropped over 4 million cluster bomb pellets over Lebanon, a kind of bomb that separates into hundreds of miniature explosives before impact. An estimated 1 million pellets never exploded and currently canvass southern Lebanon, effectively turning the region into an unpredictable network of mine fields. Current mine removal work has slowed due to lack of funding, but I did see two UN mine removal SUVs during my trip. Meanwhile, the Lebanese government is still in the slow process of repairing and replacing damaged buildings from the civil war. One day, I took a walk down the Green Line that once separated Christian and Muslim Beirut during the height of the civil war. While the main street showed no evidence of the violence that once racked the area, a few of the side streets remained in shambles. Many buildings were barely more than rubble, riddled in bullet holes of all calibers. Martyr posters abounded. Near the end of the Green Line stood the Holiday Inn Hotel. Little more than a shell, the building was once a favorite (and deadly) sniper perch during countless gunfire exchanges. Now it stands as a monumental reminder of the horrible violence that destroyed not only Beirut, but the very social fabric of an entire nation.


But the story does not end with the Holiday Inn and the Green Line. The government has made a concerted successful attempt to reinvigorate Beirut and erase all physical reminders of the war. A beautiful mosque that contains assassinated President Hariri’s tomb now rises from the Green Line. New hotels have sprung up besides the Holiday Inn, including a new Grand Hyatt. In downtown, The Place de L’Etoile square transports you to a French world of cafés and boutique restaurants, complete with clock tower and cooing pigeons. But the most inspiring reincarnation story concerns the national museum. During the war, the curator had little choice but to hide innumerable priceless historical artifacts in the locked basement while incasing the bigger pieces in concrete cement. The war did not spare the museum building, but most of the artifacts within survived more or less intact. After years of painstaking renovation, the museum reopened to tremendous and well-deserved fanfare.


More importantly, the Lebanese people do not live in a psychological war zone. On one hand, Israel is still enemy number one and technically the two nations are still at war. During my stay, Lebanese counter-intelligence arrested 15 purported Israeli spies, including one high-ranking officer of the Lebanese army. Officials proudly showed off on national television captured spy Israel spy equipment that would give James Bond and Q a run for their money. Of course, oblivious to the spy frenzy I accidentally took a picture of a government building and found myself confronted by an angry soldier; shortly afterwards I was also questioned while photographing one of Beirut’s several dilapidated and abandoned synagogues by police. It was a day of many photo deletions and frantic apologies.


On the other hand, I have never met a people so in love with life. I learned that lesson countless times with the many friends I met during my stay. But I learned it first after I just arrived in Lebanon. After settling into my hotel, I felt the inexorable pull of the ocean and meandered my way to the Corniche. Passing by the American University of Beirut, I soon enough found myself in a festival atmosphere. Apparently I wasn’t the only one drawn to the Mediterranean. Countless couples walked hand in hand, many more watched the sunset perched on rocks overlooking the sea. Children skateboarded, rollerbladed, bicycled, and generally frolicked up and down the boardwalk. Two sisters shared their one pair of rollerblades by each putting on one and holding each other precariously while gliding downhill towards the rickety guardrail. Posses of over-testosteroned men slunk in their plastic chairs smoking shisha while jamming to the bumping bass of their fancy cars. Old men cast long fishing lines over the cliff while daredevil teenagers cast themselves over the rail, diving into the water meters below. And then above the din rang a wholly familiar sound, one that I had not heard since my childhood, but one that still had the same uplifting effect. It was an ice cream truck.


Everyday, Lebanon surprised me in some new and fantastic way. I knew I would enjoy my time here that first day at the Corniche, but I did not expect I would love my time there as much as I did. I would recommend to anyone that they should visit Lebanon to see for themselves how unpredictable the Middle East can be. And yet, our State Department still recommends against all “non-essential” travel to the country, a remnant of the 2006 war between Hezbollah and Israel. Now I don’t want to disagree with the expert advice, so instead let me say that a visit to Lebanon is essential. It is essential for the resilient and yet unrealized potential of the Lebanese economy. It is even more essential to bridge the chasm between our perception and the reality of the Middle East. And it’s not a hard argument to make. After all, Lebanon hosts some of the world’s most fantastic historical sights. From the birthplace of written language in Byblos to the soap souks of Tripoli, from the world’s largest Roman hippodrome to the world’s only complete Jupiter temple at the awe-inspiring ruins of Balbek, from the lavish Ottomon palace of Beiteddine to the sturdy Crusader castles that dot the entire country, Lebanon has no shortage of world-class tourist sites. And yet, everywhere I went I was nearly alone - alone in sights worthy of crowds to match the Pyramids or the Acropolis. But the crowds will come soon enough - and you should be among them.
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Cairo, Egypt



I woke up early unsure of what I should do today. It was going to be a hot day here in Aleppo, Syria. Hot and long. I was supposed to go on an all day tour of several ancient Christian ruins where Saint Simeon once lived atop a solitary pillar in isolated, holy contemplation. That night, I was scheduled for a flight to Istanbul, Turkey at the ungodly hour of 3:45 AM. Yes, it was going to be a very long day. I stumbled downstairs to the hostel lobby and informed the owner I was cancelling my tour. I wanted a relaxed last day in Syria. I then made my way to the local internet café, ordered my usual tea with mint, opened my email, and received the unbelievable news. President Obama was to speak in Cairo tomorrow...and I was invited.



Political-junkie adrenaline surged through my veins, instantly obliterating any lethargy that only an hour before had sapped my energy reserves. Over the next several hours, I rushed to and fro, sending a flurry of emails, cancelling and booking hotel rooms and airline tickets, and searching frantically for both my misplaced immigration forms and a working ATM machine. Surviving an unnecessarily thorough immigration official, I was on my way back to Cairo after a month's journey in the Levant (blog posts still in the works). Soon enough, I tossed restlessly in my hotel bed, the prospect of sleep hampered by both the excitement of what tomorrow might bring and the nagging fear that somehow, someway, someone had made a mistake and I was not in fact invited after all.



My fears proved groundless and my excitement soared the next morning when I procured my physical ticket from the American embassy. After two months of uncertainty, I finally held certainty in my hand. The outside of the sealed envelope read the fabulous words, "Jason Stern: White House Request." Inside, the actual eggshell invitation displayed the Egyptian and American flags and in gold lettering announced, "The Grand Shaykh of Al Azhar [most important mosque in Egypt] Dr. Mohammad Sayed Tantawi and The President of Cairo University Dr. Hossam Kamel Cordially invite you to an address by the President of the United States." The invitation did not leave my hand for the rest of the day.



Walking to the speech was a surreal experience. The streets almost reached a level of cleanliness acceptable for most American cities. Meanwhile the traffic had mysteriously disappeared. In fact, I could not see a single donkey cart, fruit vendor, or microbus in any direction. I later found out the government had asked the locals to stay at home for an official holiday - and it appears almost everyone happily complied. So I walked largely by myself, sweating in my suit in the already oppressing morning heat, until I reached my first road block. I had reached Cairo University's campus.



Egyptian police lined both sides of the main road leading to the speech at five meter intervals. Dressed in their formal black uniforms, they looked even more uncomfortable than I felt. I tried to not imagine how long they had been standing there nor how long they would have to remain at attention without rest or water. I noticed that none of them carried their normal arsenal of second-hand AK-47's, AK-74's and dusty shotguns. Apparently they could not be trusted for actual security operations, but were useful enough for the spectacle of security. As I neared the building, the local police gave way to government intelligence officers, complete with suits, earpieces, and handguns. One began to hassle me, but after a quick flash of my invitation and I-belong-here-so-let-me-through evil eye, he let me through. Finally, American secret service, embassy security and President Mubarak's personal security force guarded the building. After no less than five security checkpoints, I finally entered the auditorium.



I arrived rather early, some two hours before the official start time (three hours before actual start time), so I had plenty of time to do some people watching. I at first attempted to enter the main floor of the theater, but when security discovered I was anything but important, they quickly relegated me to the balcony. No matter, the balcony afforded me a better perch to examine the growing crowd. Down below, the cream of Egyptian society slowly filtered into the theater. In front sat the wizened scholars of al-Azhar, easily identifiable by their red hats rimmed in white. Behind, sat (I think) the Catholic archbishop of Egypt next to the Coptic high clergy, their massive gray beards flowing over their black robes. Nearby, the government ministers in expensive suits filed into the front row. President Mubarak was noticeably absent, but his son and likely next President Gamal did attend. I have not heard a good explanation for Mubarak's absence, but I suspect it had something to do with the uncomfortable possibility of President Obama speaking about democracy in front of the dictatorial leader. Behind these elites, sat hundreds of dignitaries, business executives, movie stars, and music singers. I clearly did not belong down there after all.



I did belong, however, in the balcony where all the Egyptian students sat. Cairo University selected a handful of special students from each college to attend the event. I sat next to Ali, a sophomore urban planning student who (if possible) seemed even more excited than me to listen to President Obama. Unfortunately, it looked like approximately 50 more people could have belonged in the balcony as well - as there was a sizeable section of unoccupied seats. I am not sure if people had difficulty getting through security or whether insufficient invitations were issued. I do know some Egyptians boycotted the speech, especially one human rights group called Kefaya (Enough) that felt President Obama's speech - regardless of content - bolstered President Mubarak's stranglehold on Egyptian politics. In any case, it was odd to see empty seats knowing how many people (including American embassy employees) sought tickets in vain.



Despite this small boycott, you could feel a pulsating energy emanating from the crowd and filling the theater. The crowd nearly erupted during the mic check, only to hear the incessant, dull drone of 1...2...3...3...2...1...this is a mic check. By the fifth microphone check (why were there so many?), the entire crowd was cheering and some began an Obama chant. Then the moment finally came. Without any audible introduction, President Obama strode out on to the stage to thunderous applause and outbursts of adoration. In person, he somehow walked taller and smiled wider. His words somehow rung more compellingly and eloquently. Leading up to the speech, most of the pundits agreed that President Obama could not possibly appease everyone. I'm glad he did not try. Instead, he very clearly and cogently explained American interests in a number of regional issues and why those interests are shared with the Muslim world. He was fair, he was honest, and he was brilliant. It was truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience - and as the speech ended and he walked off the stage, I wanted more. I could not help but hope my career will afford me many more such opportunities.



I am sure you have heard plenty about the speech itself, so I won't go into details. But I will point out three things that I believe have not received sufficient media attention. One, in the aftermath of the speech, the media have understandably focused on the Arab and Muslim response. What do the they think of President Obama and his speech? The real answer is that there is no single response. In fact, there are vast differences in opinion. For one, the audience represented the highest echelons of Egyptian society - many of them seeking political advantage from the United States - and therefore were highly receptive and positive to President Obama's message. Most average people on the street, while on the whole viewed the speech in a positive light, still remain skeptical of American foreign policy and await the next step. Without a doubt, the speech environment would have differed completely if President Obama spoke in front of cab drivers, local imams, and school teachers. And of course, there still are the few extremists desperately trying to discredit the entire visit and the better relations it might portend; both Osama bin Laden and Ayman al-Zawahiri (second in command) released hateful speeches leading up to the President's visit. Meanwhile, I could even see obvious schisms within the audience itself. When President Obama spoke of women's rights and how the veil can empower women, the female students all around me cheered raucously. The ground floor, which was comprised of almost entirely men, managed to only muster some polite applause. Similarly, when President Obama spoke of increased student visas and exchanges, the balcony roared in approval while the elites below remained comparatively quiet.



Second, the speech elicited different responses at different times. For example, the crowd roared as loud as Heinz Stadium when President Obama greeted them with Assalaamu alaykum and promised to fight negative anti-Muslim stereotypes in America. But I'm pretty sure I could hear the crickets when he followed up by asking the audience to fight equally ugly American stereotypes in Egypt and the Muslim world. In another instance, President Obama rebuked those who used violence, referencing sleep children under rocket fire and old women blown up by bus explosions - both clear references to Palestinian terrorism. In response, a woman next to me muttered in disgust that he didn't mention Israeli violence in Gaza and the West Bank. Of course, just a few minutes later, a man jumped from his seat to shout "Barack Obama we love you!!!!" The juxtaposition of such responses clearly indicate that while we made significant progress with this visit, we have yet a long way to go to mend our relations with the Muslim world.





Third, President Obama trail blazed new rhetorical ground on two issues in particular. One, he admitted American involvement in overthrowing Mohammed Mosaddeq, the democratically elected leader of Iran in 1953. No President has ever acknowledged such involvement so directly. As part of this admission, President Obama once more reiterated his invitation to Iran's leaders for a new dialogue based on the mutual recognition of Iran's right to access to civil nuclear energy. Second, President Obama has recently increased pressure on Israel to stop any expansion of settlements in the West Bank. During the speech, he upped the notch once more by using the word 'occupation' in description of Palestine. No President has ever used that word in reference to Palestine. Oddly, even the Arab press was slow to pick up on that word - perhaps they are so accustomed to its use they did not initially find President Obama's word choice remarkable. But starting yesterday, they have begun to increasingly focus on the President's use of 'occupation' and what it might signify for the future relationship between Israel and the United States. In either case, I'm certain Israel heard the word loud and clear. We'll see what Prime Minister Netanyahu will say about it in his upcoming major foreign policy speech this week.




To some, these rhetorical shifts are just words and that they'll only be impressed by actions. I would respond that words are more than simple letters on a page. When used properly, they are symbols of something far greater than mere letters and can be more powerful than any physical object. This is especially true for the history of the Middle East. After all, President Sadat's historic visit to the Knesset was ultimately just a bunch of words, but look at how those words sparked a new and safer era in Middle East politics. Or look at President Bush's choice of two phrases: Axis of Evil and War on Terror. Both phrases began not as policies but as rhetorical flourishes meant to captivate an audience. Only later did they grow to engender our foreign policy for the past seven years. And of course, the world's three monotheisms all initially arose from a revelation of words in the Middle East. The Hebrew word Torah etymologically stems from a meaning of teaching and explanation. The word Gospel literally means the "good news." And in Islam, the word Qur'an comes from the word iqra'a meaning to recite or read. Now I am not suggesting that President Obama's speech reaches any level comparable to religion. But his speech and his words are powerful in themselves. They do more than just represent a beginning; they are a beginning.



When the speech ended, the real fun began. It was a complete zoo. Exits were blocked. Snipers were crawling in through windows from their perches outside. Throngs of people surged to the few exits not closed off by burly security men. Looking for a bathroom, I found myself lost and alone within the labyrinthine halls of the building. Suddenly, a pack of secret service burst through a door at a quickened pace, eyes darting every which way. Through the forest of guards, I espied a petite and older woman wearing a colorful pants suit talking to an aide. I did not recognize her until I heard her laugh, one that I heard so many times before. I then finally made the connection. It was Secretary Hillary Clinton. All day I had rehearsed how I might respond to President Obama if I encountered him under numerous and equally unlikely scenarios. I did not want to be caught tongue-tied and star struck. And now, within arms reach of Secretary Clinton, I was just that...tongue-tied and star struck. I hadn't planned for this! And just as I regained my wits, she was gone.



Realizing that the exit might be a wonderful people watching opportunity, I found a spot near the door and watched everyone leave. Soon enough, American Ambassador Scobey and her entourage flew by. Then, countless Egyptian celebrities came through the doors, journalists and press hot on their tails. And so I stood for half an hour, watching all the important and not so important people leave the building. Watching the media, I thought perhaps they might be interested in an American perspective on the speech. So I stood trying to make myself look as interesting and intelligent as possible, but to no avail. Then a young woman approached me. She worked for the American University in Cairo's newspaper; it wasn't the New York Times, but at least she cared about what I had to say. Finally, I myself made my exit, pushed through the small Gaza protest that had formed outside (only seven people total, likely American), and began the long and hot walk back to my hotel. In the mood for American food, I soon enough found myself at Fridays. Looking out the window at the Nile view, I suddenly saw President Obama's helicopter arcing through the sky towards the Pyramids. I pointed it out to my waiter, who smiled and told me he was a good man. I said yes he was, paid the check with a nice tip, and went home. The adrenaline of the past 24 hours had finally worn out, but I know my memories of that day never will.
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Cairo, Egypt

Cairo is a city of opposites. One day, the uniquely devilish one-two punch of pollution and dust descend upon the city, canvassing the city in a murky shroud so thick you barely make out the falafel stand across the street. The next, winds dissipate the brown muck suffocating Cairo's air, leaving the skies so clear you can admire the Great Pyramids many miles in the distance. Sometimes, the cacophony of Cairo's streets seem to mercilessly crescendo as honking horns, yelling merchants, and clicking backgammon pieces penetrate the thickest of walls and ruin any chance of self-reflection or relaxation. But time spent in a mosque affords the perfect tranquil environment for quiet contemplation, as if Allah Himself insulates his houses of worship from the unflagging din of chaos outside. In some places, the throng of the crowd overtakes you and any prior sense of private space you once entertained in your pre-Cairo life, as cars, people, and a menagerie of animals all surge through countless bottlenecks and constricting alleyways. And yet no place in the world is so isolating than the desert that surrounds Cairo, where even the world's most misanthropic hermit might long for company amongst the vast emptiness of the Sahara.

Yes, truly Cairo is a city of opposites. It leaves its residents (and especially its visitors) in a state of constant unbalance. You have to always be on guard, always looking for your next swing of fortune. Nothing - either good or bad - ever comes in moderation. But everything comes in extremes. So every day, you may reach ever grander heights or ever lower depths and, more often than not, both within a span of only a few hours. It is what makes Cairo such an amazing - and tiring - place to live.

Perhaps no tension within Egyptian society is so extreme as the divide between the rich and the poor. As a Westerner, I certainly enjoy plenty of access to the elite strata of Egyptian society. Unlike the Egyptian rich, I do not live their luxurious lifestyle everyday. Hell, I sometimes have to navigate through the local sheep flock outside my apartment to make it to the 20 cent falafel stand. But every so often I treat myself to something just a little nicer. Just a few weeks ago, I returned from a Red Sea resort that most Egyptians may never get a chance to visit, except for the lucky few who find work there. In Cairo, I've been known to frequent the best restaurants and clubs - the kinds of places I'd have no chance of getting in back in the States. But here in Egypt, my foreigner status and wallet allow me privileged access (though I must admit I sometimes feel out of place amongst the Egyptian Paris Hilton crowd). The point is, I can enjoy the finest Egypt has to offer when I so choose - and that is a choice most Egyptians will never get to entertain.

However, in recent weeks I've made a choice that most Americans would never have as well: to visit the slums of Cairo. In particular, I explored two neighborhoods that, while both impossibly poor, could not be any more different. The first neighborhood is (grimly) known as the City of the Dead, conjuring all sorts of wretched images of abject poverty. In actuality, the name does not derive from the condition of the inhabitants so much as it does from the location of the neighborhood - a centuries old graveyard. Unknown thousands of Egyptians (mostly Muslim) have claimed the graveyard as their home, while thousands more flock there every Friday to shop in the weekly market. After feeling disappointed with the overly touristy but famous Khan Khalili market, my intrepid friend and I decided to try our luck in the City of the Dead Friday market instead.

Easier said than done. As it turns out, none of our friends knew exactly how to get there while most Egyptians responded incredulously. Some thought there was no reason to visit such a baladi or "local" neighborhood. Others thought it was dangerous and suggested we have a police escort if we decided to go. So with just a little trepidation, we found a taxi who knew the way and for an over-exorbitant price would take us there. I'm glad we did.

As soon as we arrived, any hesitation instantly washed away as we penetrated the dense herd of shoppers. It was exactly what I expected a Middle Eastern market to look, sound, and smell like. Endless rows of merchants advertising their wares, running the gamut of cheap t-shirts to pigeons and snakes. Incense, spices, and cigarette smoke wafted heavily in the air. And not a single Westerner in sight. As we ventured deeper into the market, the goods gradually decreased in value - the rip-off Levy's jeans and Nike shirts turned to no name merchandise and finally devolved to organized heaps of garbage. A pile of computer parts to the left, old chairs to the right, iron railing scraps down the way. My favorite was a small painting of Osama Bin Laden, thrown away amongst a heap of old printers and laying next to a picture of a famous Egyptian singer. Before long, the refuse piles outnumbered the people and we realized we had ventured into City of the Dead proper.

Then near disaster struck. My friend, who had felt sick all day, suddenly became nauseous and dizzy from dehydration. We had long run out of water and the Cairo heat was beaming down. We had to get out. But we were lost in the labyrinthine alleys of the slum, an hour's walk from clean water and respite from the heat. Luckily for us, any qualms of visiting the neighborhood were proved absolutely baseless. Seeing our plight, we were immediately helped by a group of men nearby smoking a shisha in the shade. One scavenged chairs for us, another found us some Pepsi, while a third ran off to find us a cab. After fifteen minutes, a black and white taxi clunked towards us through the alley barely wide enough for a donkey cart. Another thirty minutes later, we were in the air-conditioned haven of a Starbucks-like chain. As I sipped my Orangina and nibbled on my neatly-triangled roast beef sandwich, I tried to digest what I had seen that afternoon. Admittedly we did not make it to the heart of the slum, and even what we did see was undeniably poor, dirty, and heart wrenching. But at the same time, I could not help but think about how alive the City of the Dead truly was. Bustling with energy and brimming with hospitality, the neighborhood deserves a better name.

A few weeks later, I felt much more downtrodden as I left Medinat al-Zabaleen. Literally, the neighborhood's name translates to "The City of the Garbage Collectors" but we usually refer to it as simply Garbage City. In this case, the name truly reflects the reality. There is no way around it - Cairo is a dirty city. But Cairo would be far dirtier if it were not for the Coptic Christian minority who patrol the city's sullied streets in search of trash. Donkey carts, pick-up trucks, and the occasional flatbed roam the city, collect its refuse, and haul it to the Christian slum of Garbage City. Then the work begins. The locals dive, sometimes literally head first, into the resulting mountains of garbage that block the streets in search of anything valuable. Some garbage is converted to crafts and sold at market. Some is sorted by material type and sold to factories and recycling plants. And some is fed to the thousands of pigs that inhabit mud-filled pens throughout the neighborhood. In this way, these Egyptians squeeze by on little more than 2 dollars a day sorting garbage and raising pork.

Curious about the city and hoping to visit a famous church in the area hewn out from a cliff-face, my now rehydrated friend and I once more set out to one of Cairo's poorest neighborhoods. We could not have chosen a worse time to go. Like everywhere else in the world, the swine flue scare had hit Egypt hard. Without any medical cause, the Egyptian government decided to cull the country's 300,000 strong pig population. In reality, the government was most likely catering to the Muslim Brotherhood by using the swine flu as an excuse to remove the pigs, an animal considered dirty and forbidden in Islam. But in effect, the policy was just one more swipe at the Coptic Christian minority that removed a primary source of income for some of Egypt's poorest citizens. Add to the fact that the Egyptian government has increasingly tried to rely on privately-owned European waste disposal firms to clean up the city and suddenly the citizens of Garbage City increasingly face the risk of losing their entire (meager) livelihood. Needless to say, the Garbage Collectors were pissed.

Of course, I knew all of this in bits and pieces, but the whole picture did not come together until our taxi pulled into the constricting streets of the slum. As we passed by dozens of fully-armored riot police, our driver casually informed us of the violent protests that occurred just yesterday in this very place. We decided to press on - after all, we were already there and had paid a considerable sum to get there. After we visited the wonderful churches and Christian wall paintings, we entered the slum itself. We did not last very long. For one, the smell was overwhelming. As soon as you entered the city, we immediately began to swim in the stench - and soon enough we were drowning in it. Several times, I tried to hold my breath only to realize I would have to take a breath at some point over the next hour. The sights were not much better. Young children, faces blackened with dirt and bodies stunted from malnutrition, scurried from one trash heap to the next. Old, hobbled women sat perched on their respective garbage mounds, scrutinizing every scrap and sorting them into smaller piles. A group of men stood huddled around a truck, packed with slaughtered pigs, their blood still wet and dripping from the truck bed. Dozens more pigs hung lifeless from massive hooks, swarming with feasting flies and spoiling in the unforgiving heat. Passing by one man's house, we spotted some live pigs that the owner was likely trying to hide from the government's prying eyes. He did not take too kindly to our obtrusive presence and wanted our assurance we were neither government officials or journalists who might report the live pigs. Offering our meager apologies, we decided it was time to leave.

As we headed home, my friend and I both felt so incredibly grateful that we had the choice to leave the slum and questioned our choice to go there in the first place. It is always awkward to visit a neighborhood like Garbage City or the City of the Dead. Roaming their streets, your cameras out and eyes open, you feel like sightseeing parasite living off the misery of others, or like some voyeur colonialist touring in your black and white taxi carriage. There is a constant guilt associated with such trips. Guilt about how they live. Guilt about how you live. Guilt that your presence only accentuates the differences between you and them. But as someone who hopes to one day formulate policy in the region, I think experiencing that guilt is ultimately a good thing. It is important for me to see with my own eyes what these neighborhoods are like. Otherwise, when I read abstract statistics in some academic journal, I might forget that those numbers represent real people, real problems, and real suffering.

A few years ago, some bright politician decided that Cairo needed trash cans to help clean up the city. So he presented his idea, the necessary important people approved, and soon enough hundreds of metal trash cans were found throughout the city. A few weeks later, they were all gone. The poor people had stolen all of the cans to scrap them and sell the metal. The politician's idea was a good one, but he was so disconnected from the average Egyptian that he failed to consider how his idea might stack up against the realities of Cairo. In the future, I do not want the same thing to happen to me. So in the meantime, I will go out of my way to feel that guilt that keeps me grounded and connected. And hopefully one day, I will be able to use those experiences to help improve the lives of these people with practical, effective, and efficient policy - the kind of policy that can only stem from real-life experience not found in books.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jes242/2/1240832880/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jes242/2/1240832880/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jes242/2/1240832880/tpod.html Mon, 27 Apr 2009 07:52:46 -0400 Ibn Battuta the Second

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Dubai, United Arab Emirates

I knew I was somewhere special when I walked into the bathroom. The granite counters and silver faucets shined without blemish. The marble floors were notably and thankfully without dubious puddles. The stalls - of all wonders! - were stocked with toilet paper and immaculately cleaned. I even felt safe enough to venture taking a breath to only pick up the slightest whiff of citrus cleaner. Appreciating my profound lavatory luck, I then noticed the coup de grace - automatic paper towel dispensers. To see paper towels at all was an absolute luxury, but to not even have to turn a handle to get them? That was too much to believe. Incredulously, I waved my hand in front of the sensor. After a moment of suspenseful red blinking, the machine whirred to life and dispensed its wares. I had just arrived to Dubai's international airport five minutes prior, but I already knew this was going to be a great trip.

I also knew it was going to be a very different kind of trip than Egypt for two reasons. First, I was not here simply as a tourist. My dad's company was hosting a medical conference to launch a new product in the Middle East and Asia beyond. Second, even the tourism would be substantively different. More than anything else, Egypt is a country of history, ruins, and temples. And more than anything else, the UAE is a country of all things new. Forty years ago, Dubai was little more than a few thousand people scattered amongst coral and mud huts, eking out a meager existence on the desert coast. Today, thanks to oil and visionary leadership, Dubai is now one of the world's largest ports and a blossoming financial hub. So I was not exactly sure what my dad and I would see during our time in the U.A.E., but I could be sure it was going to be newest, the biggest, and the best money could buy.

I wasn't wrong. The first day we visited a whirlwind of big buildings, bigger buildings, hotels, and even shopping malls. And no, I'm not embarrassed about visiting the malls. All of them were stunning, complete with massive fountains, skating rinks, indoor ski slopes, bowling alleys, and aquariums. Oh, and shopping too. We did eventually escape these consumer palaces to see the rest of the Dubai. Most notably, we visited the Burj Dubai. The tallest building in the world, the Burj extends over half a mile into the clouds. We also saw the Burj al-Arab, a self-proclaimed seven star hotel that is shaped like a massive sail. Completely unprofitable, the Sheikh built the hotel solely to leave an unique imprint on the Dubai skyline. In fact, the Sheikh accomplished his mission; the skyline is unlike any other I've seen in the world.

And its only getting bigger, taller, and grander. Construction surrounded us. Twenty new hotels here, another thirty apartment buildings there. The numbers were nothing short of boggling. And, of course, nothing could be less than five stars. While our amazement at Dubai's achievements never faded as we toured, my dad and I began to focus on the same question: how is this all sustainable? How can a city have so many hotels and office buildings that the main tourist attractions are those very buildings? As my dad reflected, Dubai resembles a Ponzi scheme (maybe we should send Madoff there) in that so long as they are building new hotels, the city will thrive. But once that building stops, there'll be trouble. And in fact, there is trouble. Since the onset of the financial crisis, the city's population has shrunk by approximately 15% (unofficially). Meanwhile, the city has had to loan money from Abu Dhabi three times to stay afloat. In short, the investment has slowed to a stand still, the South Indian laborers are going home, and there are idle construction cranes wherever you turn.

Abu Dhabi is a different story. For one, Abu Dhabi still enjoys tremendous oil profits and is therefore more resistant to the financial crisis. Meanwhile, Dubai has (relatively) small oil production that dwindles every year. Second, Abu Dhabi is not yet as interconnected to the world abroad as Dubai. While Abu Dhabi is certainly a cosmopolitan city, it is still definitively an Arab city as well. The thobe and ghutra outnumber suits and ties. But Dubai is perhaps the most international city I've ever visited. Only 10-15 percent of the population are Emirati while the rest of the population hearken from all over the world. Excluding my dad's conference, I never once spoke Arabic nor would I ever have to. Third and most importantly, the Sheikh of Abu Dhabi has made a concerted effort to not only promote his fiefdom as a economic power, but a cultural center as well. Currently, he has planned the construction of four world class museums, including a Louvre and a Guggenheim that will house some of the world's most prized works of art. That, more than any chic hotel lobby, will be a real reason to visit the UAE in the future.

But there are still plenty of reasons to visit the UAE now. I'll tell you about my two favorites. In Abu Dhabi, my dad and I visited the Sheikh Zayed Mosque. Sheikh Zayed was the founder and first president of the UAE as well as the ruler of Abu Dhabi who led them from desert poverty to urban affluence. Rising much like the Pyramids out of the desert, the mosque's 82 pearl-white domes loom over the dusty desert below. Four massive spire minarets tower above the domes, marking the four corners of the outer courtyard. On the outside of the mosque, a significant shrine resembling the larger mosque houses the remains of Sheikh Zayed. Without break, a team of religious clerics take two hour shifts reading the Qur'an to honor the Sheikh's memory. Removing our shoes, we entered the mosque proper. Everywhere we turned marble and gold decorated the walls, floors, and ceilings. Beautiful Quranic scripture adorned the walls, inlaid with gold. The prayer hall itself hosts the world's largest carpet and chandelier. Only the yet unfinished reflecting pools were imperfect - everything else was immaculate.

As I wandered amongst the pillars in the cavernous prayer hall, I realized how lucky I was to see this mosque. Prior to its opening, there was an intense debate about whether to allow non-Muslims to visit and potentially disgrace the site. Eventually, it was decided that tours of the mosque might promote cultural and religious understanding. But this decision was never considered anything more than provisional. All women must be covered. Unlike in Egypt where a simple headscarf would suffice, women here are given full-size robes that cover head to toe (the face is still exposed). Men wearing shorts also must wear robes. Unfortunately, the strict clothing restrictions may not have instilled the sense of religious propriety the Emiratis had in mind. In fact, for some religiously insensitive tourists, the robes created a Halloween type atmosphere. Look at how they dress! How fun! One particularly ignorant group began a prayer photo op in their newfound garb. Kneeling on the ground with outstretched arms to heaven while undulating violently back and forth, their stunt resembled an exorcism more than Muslims praying. Our tour guide rushed across the hall and put it to an end with a quick and well-executed tongue lashing. It only requires one such incident to close this mosque to the outside world forever.

My second favorite experience was our water plane tour of Dubai. Not only was it a surreal experience to take-off and (more nerve-racking) land in water, but the flight afforded us unforgettable views of the city. Walking in the streets of Dubai, it is hard to truly appreciate many of the buildings without a strained neck. But in the plane we could not only better view individual buildings, but we could soak in a larger perspective. But most excitingly, we flew over the Palm Islands and the World Islands. These man-made islands, as the names suggest, were built to resemble large palm trees and the map of the world. From the ground, it is hard to differentiate them from any other island. But from the air, they are truly spectacular feats of engineering. And if anyone is curious, Brangelina are rumored to have bought the island representing Ethiopia.

For the second half of the trip, my dad and I removed our tourist mantle for the medical conference. The conference was hosted to raise awareness for a medicine newly available outside North America. As a result, some of the Middle East and Asia's brightest doctors and important distributors came to Dubai to participate. As in outsider looking in, it was great to have a chance to meet everyone from countries from Libya to Indonesia and everywhere in between. But more importantly, it was great to see my dad in his element amongst all these influential people. We had more than a few great conversations and I look forward to taking up on everyone's invitations to visit their respective countries.

During the actual technical presentations that well exceeded my scientific knowledge threshold, I took the time to go shopping for a birthday gift (a veiled Barbie-like doll) for my sister. Not surprisingly, I got distracted by a bowling alley in the middle of the mall. Somewhere during my third game, I noticed I had gained a young fan, perhaps 8 years old. So I approached him and asked in Arabic where he was from and if he wanted to play. He said no because he was with a group and was just waiting for them. I only then noticed the 15 children who had just walked into the alley, ages ranging from 6 to 16. They had all the rambunctiousness of any children's camp, but there was one very significant difference. All of them, including my little fan, were missing either a leg, an arm, or suffered from some other kind of disfigurement.

After I finished my game, I approached their camp counselor, a girl about my age with a clipboard. In Arabic, I asked her about the group's story. She then asked me if I spoke English (!). I said I spoke a little. As the children only spoke Arabic, she didn't want to them to hear what she had to say. So in English, she told me that they were all Palestinian children who were hurt in during the Gaza War in January. Unable to receive proper medical care at home, Dubai's Sheikh sponsored their medical care and stay in Dubai. With the major medical operations over, the program was now focused on psychological care. So here she was taking them bowling and to the movies. Her NGO, the Palestinian Children's Relief Fund, has a website at www.pcrf.net.

In the end, I think such generosity might leave the longest-lasting impression on me. Unlike some other oil countries, the Sheikhs of Dubai and Abu Dhabi have truly taken up the mission of serving their citizens. This is not to say they don't live unbelievably luxurious lifestyles. For example, Sheikh Mohammed's private yacht reaches over 162 meters (530 feet) in length. Nor does that mean we should not scrutinize how these Sheikhs treat their temporary residents, especially the South Asian laborers. But the UAE Sheikhs have for a long time understood that oil is a temporary boon and they must build upon their country's wealth. That is why they build their hotels, financial centers, ports, museums, and convention centers. They have also understood that their wealth must spread to other Emiratis. All Emiriatis are given houses (more like mansions) along with other essentials like health care. And just last year, Sheikh Mohammed donated 10 billion dollars to charity. Some of that money certainly went to those children I met. Such acts separate them from other oil-rich rulers and guarantee their popularity with their people.

It also makes me wonder when other countries in the region will find their visionary leaders like Sheikh Mohammed and Sheikh Zayed to lead them to a better future. I hope it's soon. In the meantime, when you think about the Middle East, I ask you not to forget the suffering we see in the news everyday. But also don't forget the prosperity of the UAE and what it might foreshadow for the rest of the region in the years to come.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jes242/2/1239459600/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jes242/2/1239459600/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jes242/2/1239459600/tpod.html Sat, 11 Apr 2009 10:22:56 -0400 Ibn Battuta the Second

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Dahab, Red Sea and Sinai, Egypt

Dahab is much like any other beach town in the world. It's best known for its plethora of first-class scuba sites. Countless scuba and snorkel stores line the quiet streets that hug the lapping, azure shoreline. A continuous string of identical, cheap, and delicious fish restaurants extends endlessly in either direction, all competing for their fair share of tourists who hearken from all over Europe and beyond. The only thing more numerous than fruit coolers are the vendors who sell them. All in all,, Dahab resembles any relaxing vacation town anywhere in the world.


But it isn't anywhere in the world, it is in Egypt. There may be fruit drinks, but the majority are virgin (but as a whole the town is admittedly fairly wet). And while you can rent bicycles for the day, far more opt for the camel excursion. The mosques, though less visible and numerous, still broadcast the call to prayer five times a day with religious precision. Most noticeably (ominously), the jagged peaks of Saudi Arabia tower in the distance across the Red Sea, both inviting inevitable curiosity and warding away any possible intrusion into the unknown desert beyond.


While most of my trip was spent doing the usual beach activities, a few events stick out and deserve telling. Located on the Sinai Peninsula, Dahab is only a few hour bus ride away from the purported location of Mount Sinai. Most vacationers take a day out of their trip to follow the footsteps of Moses. My friends and I followed suit. At 11:00 at night, we piled in to a mini-van with our packs full of water and food, feeling overheated in our multiple layers in the still lingering coastal heat. Two bumpy hours, multiple episodes of dozing sleep, and several police checkpoints later, we arrived at the base of the mountain. We began the trek as a group, our Bedouin guide Mohammed leading my friends along with a few French, a Korean, and a 65 year old Canadian. But as the climb reached its second hour, the air thinned, and the temperature cooled, our ranks slowly thinned out. Any previous excitement gave way to fatigue and an utter determination to finish the climb. So we slowly stumbled in the dark, navigating loose rocks and camel dung while cursing our ill-conceived lack of flashlights. Climbing with two ex-military friends and a girl, all I could focus on is the growing fear that I'd be the one to give out first. But after over 3 hours of strenuous hiking, we finally reached the top, over 2200 meters above sea-level.


After a reinvigorating hot chocolate sold by a Bedouin trader, my friends and I settled down in our blankets, shoulder to shoulder, and waited together for the sunrise. Gazing into the sky, we marveled at the innumerable stars and the outlines of the Milky Way- only in Hawaii have I seen a better nightscape. As we stared towards the east in anticipation of the imminent sunrise, additional groups completed their treks and settled behind, next to, and (by accident) on top of us. While we were once four friends alone on the summit, we were soon a boisterous crowd, laughing, groaning, snoring...One especially loud group of French suddenly burst into song, every screeching note like fingernails against a chalkboard in the otherwise silent, desert night. Exhausted, hungry, and acoustically assaulted, I began to understand how Moses must have felt when he first laid eyes on the Golden Calf - pissed as hell. Lacking any tablets to break in half, I reached deep into the recesses of my memory of 12th grade French to figure out the best way to tell them to taisez-vous. But suddenly it didn't matter. Waves of amber and orange began emanating from the Eastern horizon and the previously impenetrable darkness receded to reveal the jagged mountain ridges of the Sinai. For a brief but glorious moment, all fell silent as the orb of the sun finally crested and hovered over the horizon. Smiling, I then knew why I had climbed all night in the darkness. But then, as if on cue, several Oh la la's punctured the sanctity of the moment and any remaining spirituality of Sinai's sunrise was lost in a maelstrom of clicking shutters. Oh well, c'est la vie.


On our final day in Dahab, we decided to head out of town to visit an especially nice reef for snorkeling and scuba. Relying on word of mouth, we completely underestimated how much effort our trip would require. Leaving in the early afternoon, we hired a taxi (a 4 wheel drive truck with cushions in the bed for passengers) to drive us to our destination. Of course, we disregarded his warnings that we didn't have enough time and told him to get a move on. So we rumbled over the desert and followed the ocean northward until we reached a bustling but tiny strip of budget restaurants and dive shops about 30 minutes outside of town. But this was the stop of scuba divers only - the best snorkeling was still a hike away. So in our rubber flip-flops, we began the journey over the jagged coastline. Losing the path several times, we unnecessarily clamored over crumbling mountains that, while they afforded us great vistas of the landscape, wreaked havoc on our still aching muscles from Mount Sinai. So we persevered over the rough terrain for nearly two hours before finally arriving to our destination - the Bedouin Village.


The Bedouin Village is a small collection of metal-sheet shacks located on a sandy peninsula that juts out into the Red Sea. The Bedouin have made a business out of the beautiful coral that surrounds their encampment, offering camel rides, handmade trinkets and tea to any tourists who might make the journey. Unfortunately, by the time we arrived, we had barely an hour left of sunlight and the winds had picked up, churning the sea and clouding its usual pristine clarity. So our epic snorkeling adventure barely had much snorkeling at all worth mentioning. But I'm sure under other circumstances it would have been a sight worth seeing.


In any case, we did not want to risk the return trip in the dark by ourselves so we decided to hire a Bedouin guide and several camels. After some fierce haggling, we came to a deal with our guide and our camels arrived. The first camel was as beautiful as far as camels go (they are perhaps one of the ugliest creatures I've ever seen) and sturdy looking. The largest camel in the group, the guys naturally thought it would be for one of us. But our guide quickly reprimanded us and demanded that the "fattest girl" ride this one. Now, none of the girls were fat and of course none of them would want to admit that they think they are the fattest. So all of us stood in awkward confusion, not sure how to proceed. Sensing our hesitation, the guide chose one of the girls and ordered her to mount up, but she stood adamantly still in defiance. Finally, another girl sacrificed her pride and reluctantly agreed. After all, the sun was already beginning to set behind the mountains.


As it turned out, the guide was offering the girls the most comfortable saddle and ride - in the end, she was the only one who enjoyed our trip back. You see, camels are nothing like Lawrence of Arabia might have you think. There is nothing graceful about them. Much taller than horses, with every grunting step you can only hold on as you sway at impossible angles back and forth. Combine the ever-present fear of toppling over with the memory of jagged rocks and sharp sudden falls now hidden the darkness and you have all the ingredients for an...interesting ride.


In fact, the ride was interesting for another reason. It was my first opportunity to speak with a Bedouin. The Bedouin are an amalgam of nomadic tribes that probably best fulfill the Western expectations of the Arab world. Predominately Muslim and found all over the Middle East, they often live off the land while herding goats and other livestock. In former times, they would traverse tremendous distances on their camel caravans. Today, they use Toyota pick-up trucks. Nonetheless, they are instantly recognizable not by their looks so much as their demeanor. It is hard to describe exactly, but they seem to emanate a strong sense of pride, solitude, and regality now largely alien to the rest of the Arab world. While the Bedouin way of life has slowly retreated in recent years, their social and moral codes have left an indelible mark on Arab culture and they remain an object of romantic reverence for many Arabs.


We talked about many things, but communication was quite difficult because he speaks an entirely different Arabic dialect than I'm used to. Nonetheless, I gleamed a few things out of our discussion. One, he is not Egyptian nor is the Egyptian government a legitimate authority over his tribe in his opinion. Two, this antagonism towards Egypt is especially important when it comes to hashish as he views the drug as a path to God even though it is illegal according to man's law. However, he believed other drugs should be strictly forbidden due to their hazardous effects on health and society. Three, he is 17 years old but in a year he will leave the Sinai for the first time to travel to Cairo in search of other work. He is dreading the thought of living in Cairo because of its noise, pollution, and alien culture. Four, he has two girlfriends - one in his tribe and one from "outside" but it wasn't clear whether that meant elsewhere in Egypt or beyond. It also wasn't clear whether either of these women were aware of their girlfriend status. Five, he didn't care or know much about American politics but was very curious about what our parties and hashish are like.


While extremely sore from our camel trek, we were glad we took it instead of walking in the dark alone. But as we waved goodbye to our guide, we came across a significant problem. The previously bustling strip of restaurants and shops was now completely deserted. Quite literally, no one was there. Walking down the dirt street and looking at the vacant storefronts, it felt much like a movie set for the stereotypical Western movie and we were the posse strolling into town. Luckily, we found a few Egyptians who sleep there at night and were able to arrange for a taxi ride - but we had to wait 45 minutes for it to arrive. In the meantime, we settled next to the ocean, lit an apple shisha, and simply relaxed as we ogled the twinkling lights of Saudi across the Red Sea. It was wonderful.


By the time we returned to Dahab, we did not have much time before our scheduled departure for Cairo. Fourteen of us had rented a mini-bus and private driver as the cheapest method of transport home. So we piled our luggage and ourselves into the van and prepared for the long, bumpy, and squished ride home that would last all night. Despite being crunched in the fetal position (there was luggage beneath my feet), I began dozing in and out of sleep in no time. But several hours into the trip, I noticed we had taken several u-turns within a short period of time. I realized we were most definitely lost, a considerable but dangerous feat in the Sinai. We were soon stopped at a police checkpoint - a normal occurrence in the Sinai - but this time it felt different. There was only one officer accompanied by a half-dozen menacing plain-clothes men. All were armed and all sported that mocking kind of smirk that can unsettle most anyone.


They demanded to know who was in the van. Our driver responded that there were some Americans, Germans, British, Norwegians and Swedes. I missed the next part of the conversation, but our driver became visibly agitated. He began to sweat, his speech sped up and he could no longer maintain eye contact with his interrogators. The officer then asked the Americans to get out of the car. Regaining his confidence, the driver adamantly refused and began arguing with the officer and accompanying gang. After several tense minutes, the situation was finally defused when the driver handed the men a sizeable wad of cash - likely the entire amount we had paid for the ride home. Satisfied with the bribe, the men let us go. Six hours later, I was crashed on my couch back in Cairo.


In all, the entire episode was surreal and most definitely a little scary. But it was not the first time I've had trouble with the police here. Two months ago, three friends and I were stopped in a car by a posse of roving police. With that same devilish smirk, they demanded to search the car for illicit materials they claimed to have spotted a block away in the dark. In reality, they were making up lies in a scare tactic in order to scrape up any bribe they might muster from us. They had no intention of arresting us. And in fact, once we told them that we were Italian, American, British, and Swiss citizens and demanded to talk to our embassies, they gave up and went on their trouble-making way. You see, they had no intention of arresting us because that would demand an official process that would get them in trouble with the higher-ups. The difference between that event and the Sinai was that those men in the Sinai had no higher authority to answer to. They couldn't care less what embassy we might contact. They were just out to take advantage of our vulnerability and make some easy money. Were they terrorists? No. They were just simply underpaid, bored, and corrupt.


All in all, we had a wonderful time in Dahab not in spite of, but because of our misadventures there. The more I travel, the more I'm growing to suspect that when a trip goes perfectly, it is less memorable and enjoyable. Luckily for me, nothing is ever perfect here in Egypt. And that's what makes my time here so great.
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Cairo, Egypt

Living in Cairo is much easier than touring Cairo. As a tourist, you feel the constant pressure to fill every hour of every day with the 'authentic' Egyptian experience - pyramids, mosques, stuffed pigeons, and shishas. Shuffling from one site to the next, the time printed on the return ticket looms ever larger. Any down time is wasted time. But when you live in Cairo, your mindset changes completely. The pressure is off. There's always next week to have that authentic, must-do experience. In the meantime, that Big Mac at McDonald's will do just fine. Biggie-sized of course, but hold the guilt.


So for the rest of this post, let me describe one aspect what it's like to live - and not tour - Cairo. It might not be coincidence that my elevated consumption of American fast-food has corresponded with a marked increase in television watching. But while Big Macs largely taste the same here, the television couldn't be any more different. My satellite package includes a little over 800 stations, most of which fit into one of four programming categories. Let me begin with the channels I don't watch - approximately 790 of 800 of them.



The first category is the news. Television here is not specific to any country, but caters to the entire Arab speaking world. So my satellite package includes news stations for countries from Morocco to Iraq and everywhere in between. Most reflect a level of professionalism of high-school morning announcement broadcasts, but a few reach much higher. Most notably, al-Jazeera and al-Arabiya look and feel like any Western news broadcast, so long as you cannot understand what is being said. While many Western politicians treat al-Jazeera as anti-American anathema, all in all it provides fair coverage of the Middle East, even criticizing Arab governments (except for its home Doha). But their coverage of events beyond the Arab world is lacking, myopic, and biased. And as for Israeli-Palestinian Conflict, any sense of journalistic neutrality is lost somewhere between the unnecessarily graphic images and overt political exhortations. Meanwhile, no one watches al-Hurra, the American government's news channel. Even President Obama snubbed al-Hurra when he gave his first Arab interview to al-Arabiya. So while the Arab news is far from perfect (neither is ours), it's a far cry from what I saw in China - 10 channels owned, operated, and controlled by the People's Government.


Next, we have the music channels. Like the news, the music channels span the entire spectrum of professionalism. Some resemble MTV in its good days, when it played more music videos than scripted "reality" shows about pimping cars, switching boyfriends, and living in the Hills. Most channels, however, do not feature any videos whatsoever. The music plays over fixed images of mountains, psychedelic shapes, or hearts as text scrolls on the bottom displaying text messages users have sent in from around the region. Without question, Egyptians love their music and you can find it everywhere. All restaurants (even the nicer ones) have some sort of music television blaring. Popular favorites include Amr Diab, Nancy Ajram, and Haifa Wehbe. The women (and some of the men) can be best described by a single word: plastic. In the case of Nancy, upon careful inspection, I've decided not a single inch of her body is original. Everything on her body is an exaggeration, her parts recognizable in their form but alien in their manifestation. Yet it would be unfair to call her solely a sex object - the people really do love her music.


Besides, for true sexual objectification, there is a much better and direct source on the television. Approximately 200 of my 800 channels, or a full 25 percent of my satellite package, are adult entertainment. Upon purely scientific investigation, I discovered most channels are devoted to individual nationalities, with an overrepresentation of Russian stations. On one hand, I find it extremely odd to find such direct and very free depictions of sex on television. After all, Egypt is a socially-conservative Muslim country and even in America we don't have such open promiscuity. Yet it would be wrong to shrug the pornography off as just yet another example of exploited women in a male-dominated society. Of course there is significant truth to this analysis and one can argue indefinitely about culture, religion, and the repression of women in the Middle East. But there's also a side of the issue that doesn't receive much play in the Western media.


Egypt is currently facing a sexual frustration crisis. For the majority, sex is unheard of prior to marriage for many religious, cultural, and social reasons. Yet in Islam, a marriage is much like a business contract - the man must be able to provide a sufficient income before he can marry. This would not be such a big hurdle if unemployment wasn't so devastatingly high in the country. As a result, men and women often do not get married until the early thirties or even later - a very long time to restrain such a prominent foundation of human behavior. So much like when you squeeze a balloon in your fist and it squirts through your fingers, often their repressed sexuality manifests in odd and unhealthy ways. Thus we have the countless provocative lingerie storefronts, the incessant cat calling and sexual harassment in the streets, the prowling (and veiled) prostitutes subtly offering their services...and the over-sexualized, over-idealized, and over-objectified pop singers.


Like little islands of moral resistance against a torrent of decadence, religious channels stand strong amongst the pornography. Bearded sheikhs flawlessly recite the Qur'an and deliver their sermons in flowing Arabic. Leading intellectuals debate the finer points of a certain Islamic doctrine. Prostrated masses direct their prayers towards Mecca and God. Even commercials have Islamic themes. One shows a young man who dies in a car crash and then flashbacks to earlier that day when he skipped the call to prayer. As his blackened soul cries quietly in the corner, the advertisement warns everyone to do their prayers. But Islam is not the only religion on television. Catholics, Copts, Orthodox, and Protestants all host several channels, spreading the good word. Even Jews (of the Messianic genre) have a channel. Like life on the streets, Egyptian television results from a combination and often a clash of influences - in this case, pornography and theology. As a result, it is often very difficult to make any definitive generalizations about life here. Confusion is abundant - much like the channel Gay Free TV, not adult entertainment but rather a fire and brimstone Evangelical channel devoted to the damnation of homosexuals to eternal hellfire.


So that's what I don't watch. But what do I do watch? Unfortunately, my options are quite limited. Often, I watch a show not because I find it interesting but because it's in English. So there's CNN and BBC. But I can endure the headlines only two or three times before I have to move on. So my next option is the MBC family of channels, an amalgam of American television and movies. But the schedule is very hit or miss. While sometimes it plays my favorite movies like A Beautiful Mind or Gladiator, more often than not it plays movies and shows I rather not see ever again. In addition, MBC is the home of Rachael Ray, Dr. Phil, the Doctors, and of course Oprah. And yes, I watch them. All of them. Finally, there's MTV Arabia. Most of the shows are the same as in America, but only a few or several years old. The other day I think I watched a Road Rules from 10 years ago. But more impressively, MTVA actually plays music, mixing European, American, and Arabic music seamlessly.




I've taken a very long time to write this post - every time I start guilt creeps in and I feel the urge to go do something, well, more productive than writing about television. It's bad enough I watch television as much as I do. But the fact is television is now an integral part of Egyptian culture. Any landscape view of Cairo proves this point. The only thing more numerous than mosque minarets are dusty satellite dishes. For better or worse, television will only continue to grow in importance here. Even the holy month of Ramadan has forever changed. A month of fasting during daytime, Muslim Egyptians used to spend the nights feasting with friends and family. Now, they spend the time watching specially-made soap operas and game shows that premier during the holy month. So I must remind myself of my purpose here - to understand life in the Middle East. Only once I fully let go of my idealized imaginations I entertain as a tourist will I understand the truth: that Egypt is a country of feluccas, of pharaohs and of mosques, but it is also a country of fast food, of shopping malls and of satellite television.
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Cairo, Egypt

I'm going to try something different here. Many of you have been asking me about my progress on the Arabic front. So I've decided to post an assignment I've been working on for class. Of course, posting in Arabic wouldn't be very useful for most of you. So instead, I'm going to translate the paper into English, but I'll do so directly as possible to give you a proper sense of my (lack of) Arabic proficiency. Knowing me, I've chosen an incredibly difficult topic to talk about in any language - Judaism in Cairo. Such a subject requires a certain level of nuance that I simply don't possess in Arabic yet. Sometime later, I might elaborate further in English. But for now, here is my best shot in Arabic. Enjoy.

"Last Friday I was walking in the streets of Cairo but I wasn't going anywhere special but I was thinking about how this neighborhood has changed since my family lived there 50 years ago. The neighborhood has become very different from before as the number of mosques has increased as well as the Islamic writings above the shop doors. What Allah Wills...If Allah Wills...There is no God but Allah...all of them are well known and far spread now but this is something new. While the population of this neighborhood has not become more or less religious, the method of prayer has changed. In the past, the people did not go to the mosque, did not believe that Muhammad is the Prophet of God, and did not read the Holy Qur'an as well. But they went to temple, believed that Moses was the Prophet of God, and read the Holy Torah as well because they were Jews. And some of my family was among them.

In the beginning of this century more than 80,000 Jews lived in Egypt. Most of them considered themselves Jewish Egyptians and not Egyptian Jews. Today, there are less than 100 Jews in the country. So where did they go and why? The Jews have been living in Egypt since the Greek period but most of them arrived after the Spanish Inquisition. At that time it was known that Egypt was a center of education, culture, and especially tolerance. For that, the Jews immigrated from Christian persecution to the Muslim-Arabic world. After that, the Jews lived and worked as Arabs.

But modern events damaged the relations between Jewish Egyptians and non-Jewish Egyptians. The first event was the Free Officers Revolution and especially President Nasser because he undertook the nationalization of the economy. More importantly, he undertook the advancement of Arab Nationalism that excluded Jews from the new state. A second event was the spread of the Islamic movement by the Muslim Brotherhood and its leader Hassan al-Banna because Egypt became more Islamic and the Egyptians began to think about the world with religious thoughts that led to the exclusion of Jews from Egyptian society. And finally, the creation of the state of Israel damaged relations. While the new Jewish State became a house of protection for all Jews in the world, especially after the Holocaust in Europe, on the other hand the situation in Palestine angered the Arab people. They forget the differences between Israelis and Jews although truthfully many Jewish Egyptians did not prefer Israel over Egypt. And for these reasons, the Jews left for a second time but this time from Egypt to other countries like America, Brazil, France. But only less than half went to Israel.

So I walked the streets and I thought about this unhappy history and I arrived to an interesting thought. In America I don't think about religion but here in Egypt it's hard not to think about it. When you see another religion everywhere, all the time, of course you will think about your religion more. In truth, I don't have a choice as religion is not a private affair in Egypt. People ask me about my religion a lot. In my opinion, it's easier to answer that I'm Christian. I am not scared of any danger to myself or anything like that if I say the truth, but I know that the real answer will lead to lots of questions and even some small problems. In reality, most Egyptians have never met a Jew. They only know the incomplete information from Arabic news about the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict. Because of that, in their opinion there is no difference between Jews and Israelis. In other words, Egyptians only know Jews in war but not in peace. I mean that they do not know most of the Jews who love science, philosophy, charity, medicine, art, and understanding more than they love some settlements in the West Bank. For example, only a small number of Egyptians and Jews know that the great Jewish philosopher Moses Maimonides worked as a doctor for the famous Sultan and anti-Crusader Saladin.

Even when someone wants to learn about Jews, it is not possible to find a good source of information. For example, I was drinking tea with an educated Egyptian who did not know that I was Jewish but did know that I was American because I always tell the complete truth about my nationality here. So he began to ask me some questions about America and its Jewish population especially. For example, he asked me "How do the Jews direct the economy?" and "Why did the Jews betray Nazi Germany and Hitler because it's necessary to fight for your nation and not against it?" I tried to answer his questions to my ability but it was very hard as he didn't know a lot about history despite the fact he will soon graduate from medical school. So he questioned me and listened to me and I answered him and taught him and we discussed together and did not argue. After that, he remained seated for a long time without saying a word. Finally, he thanked me and said he wanted to learn more another time. I understood that that was his first opportunity to learn about Jews except for the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict on al-Jazeera. I then decided to tell him my religion next time so that he will learn from my actions and not just from my words.

Truly Egyptians are a nice, generous, and great people except for a small minority like the taxi driver who said to me that all Jews were killers. I said that we were all descendants of Adam and left the taxi. But most of of them are only ignorant of Judaism but they want to learn more if they have the opportunity. So I continued to walk in the streets as a secret Jewish ambassador, thinking about the neighborhood's Jewish past and the future relations between religions."

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I had originally planned to post the article in Arabic too, but I think travelpod's not compatible with Arabic characters. So barring any ingenious solutions, it's not gonna happen.
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Cairo, Egypt

Last night, I was out to dinner on a Nile cruise with my Egyptian friend and his family. We dined on exquisite food, marveled at the whirling dervish, ogled the belly dancer's every undulation, and still managed to watch the Cairo city-lights as we drifted by. In between the intense thumping of the Arabic percussion sets, we discussed the importance of education that offers an international perspective, encourages language learning, and promotes multi-cultural understanding. It was a good night.

I therefore have a hard time understanding how on that very night and only a short cab ride away, terrorists struck the Khan Khalili market, killing one victim while injuring many more. Even though I have been to that market more times than I can count, even though I carefully scrutinized the nationalities of the victims and called all my friends who may have been there, and even though the State Department recently sent out a general email warning of potential terrorist threats in the region, I feel somehow detached. In my mind, the Cairo that was attacked is not my Cairo where I have lived and studied for the past two months. It's the dangerous, fanatical, and incredibly angry Cairo I have occasionally read about in newspapers. It's the Cairo that Anne Coulter or Geert Wilders perpetuate in their prejudiced analyses. And it's the Cairo that I was sure I would not find once I arrived. But here it is nonetheless.

The important thing is that my friends and I feel (and are) perfectly safe. I'm confident that the attack was conducted by an amateur splinter group without any external support. I'm more confident that the Egyptian government will do its utmost to continue its battle against violent extremism. And I am most confident life will return to normal shortly. In the interim, of course my friends and I will avoid the major tourist sites and exercise increased vigilance. But for me, it is also important to remind myself of all the good and great things I love about Egypt. So for the rest of this post, I'll write about a happier memory. I'm not attempting to minimize the importance of the terrorist attack. But rather, I want to balance the fear of a single event within the context of a greater whole that the media does not have the time to address. After all, nothing in this world is purely black or white, but always shades of grey. That is, perhaps, except for my travel destination last month: the Black and White Desert.

As the sun's rays first began to pierce Cairo's blanket pollution, five of my friends and I piled into a van and headed west. As we drove, at first the traffic thinned out, then the buildings grew sparse, and soon the road narrowed and deteriorated. After two hours, we took our first break at a rest stop that consisted of a dirt pull-off and a single bench covered by a small, metallic platform. In all directions, gritty desert stretched without interruption to an interminable horizon.

A while longer and we finally reached the oasis town of Bahariya, a dense conglomeration of lush palm trees and one-story stucco buildings. Before we could travel further, we had to get travel permits to allow entry into the desert beyond. Luckily, that's why we hired a tour guide. Unluckily, we arrived just as Friday prayers began and he was nowhere to be found. After a long and uncertain wait, he showed up, we boarded a 4 x 4 vehicle packed with supplies, and we were off. After all, this is Egypt and things work out as long as you're patient enough. But as we embarked, the sky closed in around us and the unthinkable happened. It began to rain in the desert, the first and likely last time this year. The sprinkling of rain intensified into a slight drizzle before dissipating into memory.
Over the next two days we visited many sites.

Our first stop was the Black Desert. For as far as we could see, black volcanic rock lay strewn across a jagged landscape of sudden cliffs, jutting outcrops, and crumbling scree slopes. Looking carefully, we could spot white quartz crystals sparkling like little mineral stars against their igneous backdrop. We then raced at breakneck speed to the White Desert over rough terrain. Our driver fearlessly (or recklessly) maneuvered between jagged rocks and over rising sandbanks, the suspension barely protecting us from the rugged ground below. Night fell suddenly but our guide seemed content to only flick the headlights on and off at regular intervals. Then without warning, our jeep came to a crunching halt. We had arrived.

That night, we slept underneath the innumerable stars, tightly packed with only a few layers of blankets separating us from the penetrating cold and piercing silence of the White Desert. The next morning we got our first good look at our surroundings. The White Desert earns its name from the countless salt structures that protrude from the ground, many rising a dozen meters into the air. Most resemble familiar objects, like mushrooms or rabbits, but all are unique in shape and size. Only in the daylight did I realize how perilous our drive was the night before in the dark, each rock formation resembling a giant iceberg and our scrappy 4 x 4 anything but titanic.

On our way home, we took a small detour to one of the many solitary mountains that dot the desert. After a long hike up an unknown height, we finally crested the summit. Catching our breath and braving the whipping wind, we took in the stunning view. Besides the small white speck of our 4 x 4 and a long, unerringly straight black line of our road, we could see no sign of life. In every direction, similar mountain peaks stood defiant against the otherwise undifferentiated landscape. Our group didn't talk to each other, but instead we claimed our own corners of the summit and sat in meditative silence. In only a few hours, our patience would once more enervate in Cairo traffic, our throats would once more ache in Cairo air, and our ears would once more throb in Cairo cacophony. But for that moment, we soaked in the invigorating peace of the desert, each of us alone in our thoughts but together in our contentment.
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Cairo, Egypt

My Super Bowl party was much like yours: good friends, good family, good food and good fun. But my Super Bowl was probably just a little different from yours: bad audio, bad visual, bad lag, and an ocean, continent, and culture away. But it was better than nothing - and in fact it was more than something. I'm just happy I got to see anything at all, let alone such a fantastic and historical Steelers win.
My playoffs began without much of a warning. It's easy to lose your sense of time here (I'm already arriving 10-15 minutes late everywhere on "Arab" time). It's even easier to lose your awareness of the world beyond Egypt. With a stunning lack of usable internet and a roommate who loves France 24 more than the Eiffel Tower, it's hard to keep track of American news that only we care about (e.g. football). So when my parents called me to talk about where I'm going to watch the San Diego game an hour before kick off, I realized I had screwed up. Already 10:30 at night and with no way to research where to go to watch, I left it up to the football Gods and went to bed wondering egotistically whether my absence from the television audience would have some sort of cosmic effect on the outcome of the game. The next morning I woke up to 4 text messages from my Dad:
"Tied 7 all"
"Halftime. We're up 14 to 10."
"3rd quarter. We're ahead 21 to 10."
"We won. 35 to 24."
Phew. Dodging a karma bullet once was enough. I immediately began a fruitless search for a place to watch the Ravens game. Ideally I would find someplace to watch the game on TV. So I went from one large American hotel chain to the next. Not only did none of them have the game on television, but one concierge had never even heard of the Super Bowl. After learning that even the Cairo Hard Rock would not show the game, I began to feel just a little flummoxed. So I resorted to asking people on the street. Most answers were simple enough - a laugh followed by an obvious no. A few times I had to first explain that I was not interested in American soccer (which I was enthusiastically told is no good) but a different sport called football. Eventually, I found my way to two local sports bars. One gave a flat out no - the game started too late to keep the staff. The other requested an inordinate amount of money. I had hit a wall.
If television was not an option, the internet would have to do. Except, even this would prove difficult. In the past year, all of Egypt has lost its internet connection - twice. Even when the internet does work, it is incredibly slow. On more than one occasion I've used a 28.8k dial-up modem (remember those?). Even supposedly broadband connections can barely stream a YouTube video without multiple, halting breaks. And that's at the five-star hotels. So I could opt for the utterly-expensive but sure bet or go for something more reasonable but risky. After discovering an internet café near my apartment, the choice became obvious.
That Sunday I finished my homework around 11 PM. After a two hour power nap, I jolted awake, packed my bag with a liter of Pepsi and some chips, and stumbled to the internet café. Of course, I was so worried about finding a web connection I never figured out how to actually watch the game via the internet. After some intense web scrambling, I found a pirated website that illegally streams live television broadcasts. Brilliant. I creaked back in my plastic chair, popped open the soda, adjusted my headphones, and prepared to watch some hard-hitting division-rival playoff action. Well, at least I heard most of it. The connection was too slow to stream the video, but just fast enough for the audio to kick in and out. I spent much of the first half looking at the back of Ray Lewis's jersey while focusing intently on John Madden's skipping broadcast. But at least I could follow the game, so I was happy.
Right as the third quarter began, I got a tap on my shoulder. It was 4 AM and the café was closing. Crap. I knew there were several budget hotels nearby, so I bolted for the closest one. Apparently, when you show up breathless in a hotel lobby right before dawn demanding a room for the night, you look a little suspicious. So no one would give me a room nor even let me pay to use the lobby for an hour. Dejected, I began the long walk back to my apartment. Then I saw the McDonald's golden arches, like a glowing fluorescent mirage in the football desert. I then remembered that all McD's offer free but very slow internet. Quickly buying a CHICKEN Big Mac, I sat down, booted up my laptop, and got squared away. All was well until three minutes left, when the internet went down. Quickly calling my parents, the phone connected just as we intercepted Flacco's pass to seal the game. Beautiful.
After the frantic hit-and-miss mess of the past two weeks, I became determined to find a comfortable place to watch the Super Bowl. And so far, there has been no place more comfortable in Cairo than my language school. And better yet, my good friend lives in one of the in-house apartments, complete with (relatively) reliable wireless internet. The only real problem would be the security guards as no guests are allowed after 11 PM. So come game day, I once again packed several Red Bulls, a few bags of ketchup chips (not Heinz but close enough), my lucky Steelers boxers and I was off. With my ultra-deft subterfuge skills, I got by the guards with James Bond ease and arrived at my Super Bowl venue.
Of course, it would've been too easy if I could have just watched the game on the same website I found previously. So, seeing how this is Egypt and nothing is easy here, the website was removed. Once again, I found myself frantically searching for another way to watch the Steelers. All my European and Arabic friends found my near-hysteria boggling but amusing. They just simply didn't understand how I could get so excited over football. It's too violent for a sport. Why do they wear pads? Why does the game stop all the time? Are they not fit? And most of all, it's only an American sport and how can it be a world championship if only one country plays? I ignored much of the criticism and instead focused on solving my broadcast problem. Out of options, I threw a hail mary and called my mom. I would Skype the game.
Skype is a online telephone program that has webcam capability. As long as both parties have a webcam and account, the call is free. My mom and sister brought a laptop to the Super Bowl party at our good friend's house, set it up in front of the TV, and began transmitting the game straight to my laptop in Cairo. The sound was audible, the video was streaming, and the energy was palpable. I could see almost every detail of the game. And better yet, I was also part of the party and could hear and respond to all my friends and family. It was as if I were back at home, only slightly scrambled and grainy. (As an Arrested Development fan, it was a proxy-dream come true.) I had found my Immaculate Connection.

Before the game began, everyone had left but me. It is one thing to convince a European to watch American football; it's another to make them do it starting at 1:30 AM on a school night. But while I was physically alone, I still felt part of the party back in Pittsburgh. So huddled in a blanket, bleary-eyed but mesmerized, I watched one of the most exciting Super Bowls I have ever seen. Because of all the hurdles I had to overcome to watch the game, every part of the game took on a new significance. From the terrible towels waving, to the national anthem singing, to Harrison intercepting, to the Boss sliding, to Santonio tiptoeing...all of it was fantastic. Several times I let out an ecstatic cheer or damning curse, only to realize I might wake up the entire apartment. But after Holmes' game winning catch, I couldn't hold back any longer. Much like the building itch to sneeze, I couldn't stop the overwhelming natural desire to let loose a triumphant yell and let all of Cairo know we had just won our record 6th Super Bowl. They must have heard me. As Coach Tomlin held up the Lombardi trophy a few minutes later, the morning prayer began to ring out from Cairo's minarets. I then realized Allah must be a Steelers fan.
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