My last two weeks in Russia were a lot of fun, Petersburg especially, where I met up with my former physics advisor from Stanford who happened to be in the area for a NATO-sponsored conference, and I went to a couple of talks and met his physicist friends from around the world, including some crazy Russians. We all had dinner together a couple of times and talked physics, and then some of us stayed out 'til 7:00 a.m. nearly every night and thought about physics not at all. We saw a great punk band and met a lot of cool locals and students. It seems like the good, energetic, cheap nightlife of the Moscow of three years ago has moved a few hundred miles north, and of all things, the Irish coffee and shawerma in Petersburg are excellent. It was memorable to say the least.
I got my plane tickets to Egypt in the mail a couple of days before I left, caught a shuttle to the airport, and flew to Larnaka, Cyprus with a bunch of rich Russians on an Aeroflot plane and got the exact same meal as the one I got three months ago flying into Russia. And yeah, they all clapped again when we landed safely.
I had a nine hour stopover in Cyprus, which I didn't expect, so I flew in knowing nothing whatsoever about the island except its location within a continent or two. When I got my arrival card and it was in Greek, I was excited. I've done enough physics to know my Greek alphabet pretty well, and what I didn't learn in physics I could name a few frats until I figured it out. The first word I sounded out was on an exit sign: an E, three horizontal lines, and O, a triangle, another O, and a sigma (like from sigma chi). EX-O-DOS. Exodos! Like from the Old Testament, which by the way was written in Greek. I know it is silly and childish, but I started laughing after I sounded it out. This massive, tragic migration that founded three major religions, Exodus carried so many momentous connotations, and here it was gracing a simple exit sign. Like, somebody part the Red Sea, I'm leaving the airport.
Larnaka was thankfully very close to its airport, and I took a bus there (it was free because the guy didn't have any change for the 10-pound note (about $20) I'd taken out of the ATM for the day and was really nice about it). Then I zig-zagged all around the town from the marina to the two main archaeological sites, neither one too interesting, just rocks in a hole, to some churches, to the downtown, to a crepe shop where the Greek-Cypriot (kinda like African-American or whatever) crepe guy and I talked for about an hour, and along dusty residential areas where people were watching execrable American television (I quote: "Since when do critters eat milk chocolate?") subtitled in Greek and I could watch right along through their open front doors. All the windows and doors were open and there were even dinner tables on porches. They didn't seem all closed off, you could see right to your neighbor's living room. Fruit trees and flowers lined the streets, and the woman I bought water from took up almost all the floor space of the tiny shop kicking back and watching TV right in the middle of everything.
I figured Wednesday must be a national holiday or something because the sidewalks were sparse with people, all the shops except food places were closed, and the pace was so slow I felt funny walking kinda fast to see what I could in the time I had. Kids played soccer on dusty fields, and the little park in the middle of town looked like a back alley, hardly any vegetation except a couple of palm trees. The beach was nice, the water like a warm bath, but all the cafes and hotels on the strip were identical, of poor quality, expensive, and devoid of any personality. As usual for package-touristy things. A block or two inland things were great, though.
Cyprus would be a bike-tourer's dream, because it's pretty small and flat, the people are friendly, the bottled water's cheap, and you can stop off for fruit or a swim almost anywhere. The people are nice, things are of Western quality in general but have the flair of all the civilizations that have washed over it: Greek, Roman, Christian, Muslim, British, the usual suspects. Too bad Turkey's still occupying the northern third of the island, it's pretty much off-limits. I hate when big countries pick on little ones just because they can.
At 7:30 I went to catch my bus back to the airport--I'd saved back about a pound and a half for the bus and maybe coffee at the airport--but of course when I got there all the buses had stopped running hours ago. A taxi pulled up just then, and I asked him how much to the airport, and he said 4 pounds. Great. It was only a 5 km walk or so, but on highways and through overpasses and stuff. I asked the guy rather hopelessly if there was some lone bus coming later, because I had only saved up enough for one and I'd forgotten to check the schedule, and he said no, and I asked if maybe he could take American money, and he sighed and shook his head. Then he said, "Is it just you?" "Yeah." He sighed again. "Get in." "W-- are you sure?" "Yes, you have no bus, no money. I take you." "You... you take me?" "Sure, get in."
So I got a free ride to the airport in the dusty twilight while the guy and I chatted. I still can't get over the fact that he gave me a free ride, and I wished I had a gift of some kind to give him, then I remembered I was still carrying around the pack of Patriotic American Playing Cards I'd bought at Wal-Mart kind of as a joke when I was looking for American stuff to take to Russia. I kept forgetting to give them away, though, and I sure as heck didn't want to take them to the Middle East. So I gave them to him as a gift, and he refused, but I insisted. When he finds out what they are, I hope he realizes I bought them ironically, because I am horrified by our current foreign policy. I hope he doesn't think he gave a ride to some crazy imperialist warhawk. Sometimes I forget irony doesn't translate so well.
And now I'm in Cairo. The hotel I found is cheap, of excellent quality (well, compared to Russia...), has free breakfast, super-friendly and helpful staff, copious toilet paper, and plenty of travelers to go have a shawerma with on warm, sweet nights. I got my visa for Jordan no problem, cheap and fast and easy, but the Syrians were like, "Why do you want to go to Syria?" all demanding, and I said, "Just as a tourist." "Oh, OK. Give us 660 pounds." "660 pounds?!" (That's about $110.) "Sure. That's what America charges us." Thanks, GW.
I met an Egyptian guy named Wa'el at the embassy who spoke English, Italian, and Arabic. He invited me to coffee with his sweet old Turkish grandma who could squeak out a few words of English herself, and the next day I met his niece and sister. His niece, 15 years old and sharp as a tack, talked to me for two hours in her excellent English about her desire to live in America someday, how boring Egypt is, why she chooses to wear the shawl (so boys won't be so rude to her mainly), and whether David Beckham might one day leave Victoria for her. She's close to top ten in one of the best girls' schools in Egypt which has over 1000 students and she hopes to be an engineer but will have to work pretty hard to make it even with her excellent marks. Her mother, Wa'el's sister, invited me over for Egyptian food when I get back from visiting the Siwa Oasis.
It's true, 99% of people who come up and talk to you on the street are touts or hustlers or boys being rude, but unless his old Turkish grandma's in on it, this guy seemed like a nice guy. I'm sure I'll never see him again, but his whole family showed me such hospitality basically just for showing up.
I find it hilarious that they don't even put blankets on the beds here. Just sheets! There's no pretense whatsoever of this being a normal place where people put blankets on their beds. The days haven't been too hot, though, at least in the shade, and the nights have been beautiful. I hope it keeps up. Tomorrow early I leave for an oasis in the Western Desert called Siwa that stayed pretty much to itself for several hundred years but just now is being opened to tourism, unfortunately. I feel bad contributing to it, but it will be nice to see it before it starts being not just tourists but package tourists. They really do ruin a place for the independent traveler, not to mention for the indigenous people and their way of life, and it doesn't seem like they even have all that much fun. I'll try to keep it low-key.
Allah ma'ak,
Bamila
(That's my name in Arabic... Val, you have to be Falari. There's no P or V in Arabic, I found out the first time I tried spelling my and Val's name.)