The Tina Trip 02 - Egypt

CHAPTER 5 - CAIRO FOR BEGINNERS

A one dog night with a semi-tantric morning.

It was my first time on an airplane. Tina had flown about a million times before and tried to scare me with blatant lies about the horribleness and danger of flying. I knew she was lying but was a little nervous anyway until the guy behind me started to loudly tell his neighbor about how terrified he was every time he was on a plane. I calmed down right away. Someone else took care of the fear, leaving me free to fulfill some other task. These tasks were mainly to feel Tina up, reenact Hamlet and eat rubber chicken. The rubber chicken eating task took great persistence but I prevailed, not wanting to throw away food that I´d bloody well paid for, however rubbery. Tina laughed at me and very magnanimously gave me her chicken too, to see if I´d eat hers as well. I did. OCD? Who? Me?

The heart of the matter is not the part about having paid, by the way. It´s a matter of basic respect shown to food, which after all is a thing there´s a world-wide lack of. We have an old folk tale in Sweden about a vain girl who stepped on a loaf of bread to get over a mud-puddle without soiling her new shoes. The loaf turned into red-hot iron, stuck to her foot and dragged her down to hell. Served her right, right?

The Hamlet game was fun. We knew the basic story, but only about three actual lines. We made up the rest, it worked out something like this:

"Begone foul spirit down unto that pit

Where evil pikes abound and giant farts

Disturb the strangling seaweed"

And so on, over an increasingly southerny Mediterranean.

The next game was trying to get into Egypt without changing money. You get a much better rate for your currency by people in the street than by the government and legal changing of what to us was a hefty sum was therefore required before entrance. Tina didn´t even have to try, she got her stamp in the passport right away. I did not.

Tina jumped up and down with triumph when I finally passed the border, Egyptian pounds and a receipt from the changeplace in hand. I pretended to be upset and accused her of cheating, waving her tits at the passport guy. This was an accusation she was proud to confirm and she bragged about her unsecret weapons conquering the Arab World. Then she waxed philosophical;

"My eyes are the window of my soul, right? But my tits are the mirrors of other people´s souls. Male others. As you can see these mirrors are convex and distort whoever mirrors himself in them. Turns them into pigs, in fact. Except you, of course."

We were approached by Hans from Hannover. Hans from Hannover wanted to share a taxi into town. Hans from Hannover had been in Cairo before and knew that a cab was the best way to get there and how much it should cost. Hans from Hannover was happy to haggle for a good price, we were happy to let him do it. Haggling was not a game that appealed to either of us. Hans from Hannover knew what neighborhood had the best hotels for travelers like us, the area round Tahrir Square. Hans from Hannover was happy to talk the whole way about what we must and must not do in Cairo. We were happy to let him. We were also happy to part our ways at the square. Hans from Hannover was probably not a bad fellow, but he sure was kind of boring.

One thing we found fascinating during our ride into town was all the picnickers. There was a narrow strip of grass between traffic going to and from the airport. Hans from Hannover had explained to us that it was a holiday and that this narrow strip of grass was as close to a public park there was in Cairo. It was weird seeing all the blankets and people throwing frisbees just a meter from the busy traffic. Their cars were parked along the strictly no parking allowed roadside.

We followed the Talat Harb Street and found a hotel called the Oxford Pension. This was almost perfect for us, being cheap, scruffy and filled with travelers like ourselves. The downside was that we could not get a private room, they only had dormitories with at least eight beds. Mixed sexes, which was good. We wanted to share a bed and got a bit knocked off the rate. We had brought my thin waterproof bag, the regular sleeping bag was too warm and in this thin one there was room for both of us.

"This is a one dog night." I said. "Not too cold."

"Woof!"

"Zombie Woof?"

"Easy. Zappa."

We fell asleep in a heap of tired limbs and cute freckled tits.

Next morning we proved to our mutual satisfaction that it was possible to bring each other off in a sleeping bag in a room full of strangers without anybody noticing. Tantric sex (I think) involves very little movement and a lot of spiritual connection. If so, this could be seen as a semi-tantric hand job. A good way to start the day. I recommend it.

The Oxford Pension was a fun place. It had once been a very grand apartment, a large flat with big, stately rooms. These rooms now were filled with old lumpy beds with sheets that were never changed, as far as we could tell. The proprietor was a shifty-eyed little man who became our money-changer. He gave us competitive street rates and did not try to rip us off. Apparently some of the street-changers were experts at making you think you got more money than you actually did, making the government rates seem pretty good.

There was also a large black man in a white jellabiah, which is one of those long dresses that many of the men wear. His life´s task was to slowly walk around with a broom which he never used and with a very deep voice say aaa-iii-ooo-aaa, which means yyy-eee-sss. A few ratty chairs, and that was it. Oh yes -- a few toilets, which worked well enough, and an almost-shower. It almost had running water which was almost warm. You got almost wet and almost clean in it.

If you wanted to hang out and talk to other guests, the roof was the best place for that. We learned that rooftops were very important to Cairo social life. They were the only un-congested and comparably peaceful places you could find. There was a constant background noise, which made me think of waves by the ocean or the sound of living close to a big waterfall. It was the sound of traffic.

Remember, we had found Athens car-infested, hectic and polluted. Cairo took these qualities to a new level, a level where they transformed from annoying to awe-inspiring. The sound of honking horns was literally constant. Traffic was perpetually congested and the response to that was to sound your horn. It didn´t affect the congestion but that´s the way things were done here. Everyone seemed to be a parking artist, too. I had never seen such nimble parking in tiny spaces. Crossing streets was an adventure. The rules were clear -- cars do not stop or even slow down for pedestrians. The cars keep their speed and it´s up to you to not be run over. And there were people. Peoplepeoplepeoplepeople. People everywhere. Every space filled with people and cars. No empty areas. No parks. No place to rest, except for the rooftops.

We wanted to move further south in Africa. Further south meant Sudan. We were informed at the Oxford that it took a month to get a visa to Sudan. No one knew why, it was just a stamp in your passport, but we had to spend at least a month in Egypt. The first thing we did was to hand in our applications for a Sudanese visa. Our passports were inspected for signs that we had been to Israel and we had to solemnly swear that we´d never. Our applications were put in a pile on a shelf and I do swear that they were in the exact same spot, probably never looked upon, a month later.

CHAPTER 6 -- GETTING "MARRIED"

No more wounderland, no more hate.

So. What to do in Egypt? First, of course, explore Cairo. We walked and walked and got lost and found our bearings and got lost again, the way it should be in a really big city. My dogshit shoes were killing me. They stubbornly refused to soften or conform to the shape of my feet. I think whoever made them knew that they would be purchased by a tourist and had made it his life´s work to make tourists miserable. I hated the fucking things with a passion and my story right then was almost as much a hate story about the bloody shoes as it was a love story about Tina. My heels were raw and Egyptian dicks apparently were just as small as the Greek ones since we found no shoes that fit me.

We never saw the pyramids, except from a distance in a bus. Nor did we visit the archeological museum in spite of the fact that both of us were interested in ancient cultures. None of us even suggested it, probably because such activities could be considered touristy. And tourists we were not, nononono, we were travelers. And travelers did much more genuine things than visit pyramids. Like having coffee in a small, scruffy backstreet café and pat each other´s backs for not being in a tourist oriented place. We were self-satisfied jerks, but young enough to be forgiven.

One good thing about avoiding the places where tourists gathered was that you avoided the locals who made their living from tourists. Many had warned us that Egyptians were pushy, obnoxious to women and tried to rip you off all the time. This was not our experience. As long as you kept away from tourist traps and perfume shops. Whatever you do in Egypt -- don´t go into a perfume shop unless you have a burning desire to purchase perfume. We made the mistake once of accepting a perfume-sellers friendly invitation to just come in and have a cup of tea and a chat. For a moment I thought we would have to use violence to get out of there.

Apart from that, we met a lot of friendly people. Sure, they were intense and sort of in your face. At least in Cairo, a city which did not promote introversion or the need for a personal space. If we were not up for that intensity we stayed at the hotel and recharged, talked, read or made out. But when we were in the right mood we had a lot of fun with those friendly people we met. Particularly after following Maud´s advice.

Sometimes you had to re-frame a situation to enjoy it. One example of that is buying stamps, which in my part of the world is a very orderly activity. In Cairo buying stamps was something else. They were sold in a special window at the post-office. In front of that window was, not a line of people, but a shapeless crowd. I soon found out that just standing at the edge of the crowd and hope to gradually get closer to the window was an exercise in futility. For a moment I judged the situation by how I had expected stamp-buying to be and was quite irritated. Then I realized I had to view the situation like a game. If it was a real-life strategy game I could deduce the rules and eventually win the price of buying stamps. Open violence was out, you could not push people out of the way. But you could slyly put your foot in just the right place so that someone couldn´t get past you without pushing, or you could discreetly put a bit of pressure in with your elbow to halt someone´s advance. It was fun, and soon I had my stamps.

"You better be married," Maud said. "If you want to travel together and meet ordinary people and not just those who make their money from tourists, then you better be married."

Maud should know. She had lived in Egypt for fifteen years, having come here to study the traditional textile techniques of the area. She was still studying away, having fallen in love with the country. Me, I had fallen in love with Tina, and of course I would like to be married to her.

" Married or "married"?" Tina asked. Both were fine with me so I proposed right away.

"Dearest Tina, love of my life -- will you marry me? Or at least "marry" me?

"Both!" Tina said. Guess we´d better start with "married"".

We found a goldsmith named Omar, a name I´ve always liked since I read some children´s books with an Omar in them, the perfect oriental gentleman complete with a flying carpet. This Omar had a very nice carpet but far as I know it didn´t fly. He definitely was a gentleman though, and he was quite understanding about the "married" situation. He winked conspiratorically as he demonstrated rings. They all looked the same to me but apparently not to Tina. I admired his shop/workshop instead. He had some jewelry on display, some of which he´d made himself and some he sold for other craftsmen who did not own their own shop. It smelled of hot metal and the chimney was an obviously home-made metal contraption that guided the smoke through an obviously home-made hole in the wall.

Tina showed me a pair of rings she liked. They were not the highest grade of gold purity whatever you call it in English, twentyfour something -- carats?- but pure enough for us. Tina said she was sure there was no nickel in the blend which apparently was important. She said that she wouldn´t want us to get allergic to the symbols of our oneness, that would be a lousy omen for our future together. My ring fit perfectly, hers needed a bit of fiddling. The price was good, Tina said. Of course we didn´t know it was a good price for Egypt, but by European standards it was cheap. OK. I wouldn´t know. But I sure knew that it was a bargain for being "married" to Tina. Omar congratulated us and we made a toast for our eternal happiness in sickeningly sweet tea. I particularly enjoyed the fact that Tina now, being "married" to me, had a last name she couldn´t pronounce.

We then proceeded to celebrate by going to a real restaurant with a menu. Most often we ate from simple food stalls that offered one thing only, or in the very cheap eateries that served basic fare for the not too well-off. It was basically free, at least to us comparatively rich folks. Anyway, after dinner we went to the movies. That was a peculiar experience. We went to an outdoor cinema that played "Conan the Barbarian", dubbed to Arabic. This was like the traffic in Cairo, something that was usually perceived as bad but taken to such an extreme that it became a worthwhile experience. The incredible silliness of the movie, plus not understanding a word that was said, plus standing on a sandy outdoors backyard with a very enthusiastic crowd cheering Conan on as he and his mates slaughtered the bad guys was together such a masterpiece of silliness as to become profound. We cheered with the rest and had a good time, trying to parrot the encouragement shouted by our neighbors, to their vast amusement. Tina thought that I would look very handsome in a Grace Jones squarehead hairdo, especially if you took it a step further and squarified the beard as well.

Maud had a lot of useful information. The last few days I had tried to pretend that my feet and their pain was not part of me. The feet were down there, far away in their own private wounderland. Nothing to do with me. When we mentioned this to Maud she led us down some backstreets to a sandal-maker who made a pair of sandals in my size in twenty minutes. Soles made from car-tires, a few leather straps and, voilá -- no more chafing. We wanted to throw the detested shoes in the Nile, but the sandal-guy wanted them so he got them. I pity the poor fellow who eventually got to wear them.

The Nile was a very wide river. Wide but domesticated, running between stone walls. In the middle was a big island filled with rich-people private parks. Tennis-courts and so on. Domesticated, too, in that there were no floods anymore, like in the old days when the Nile flooded everything every year. Spread a lot of fertile soil though, the floods. They care of salinity build up too, which is becoming a problem now. Tina felt sorry for the Nile, no longer allowed to be wild and free and too much, still big but defeated and old, longing to get to the sea where it could be wild again. Tina could sympathize -- not being allowed to be too much would be terrible to her.

I suppose you are curious about the rape. I was curious, too. But I had decided to wait and not press the issue. You know that AA prayer about having the courage to change and the wisdom to accept. Well, I lean heavily to the acceptance-side. If that makes me wise or wimpy or both I don´t know, but I find that not being pushy often works pretty well for me. I do think it was the right policy with Tina. She gave me increasingly sized crumbs of information about the rape. She had been seventeen. She had been stupid. She had been drunk. They had been three. She had not told anyone else than me. After the rape she had continued to be sexually active. Sex had been a way to be in control. She felt that boys, then men, got stupid and maneuverable if the possibility of sex was there. Sometimes it had been fun, sometimes not - but she always felt in charge. None of us had ever heard the word contraphobic.

Our sex-life had not widened, but deepened. There were few things we could do in our sleeping bag, surrounded by people, but we did them better and better and more deeply felt. We were better and better at keeping it discrete too. We could have moved to another hotel, of course, but we liked the Oxford and I sensed that Tina was comfortable with the level of sex we had now. I was curious about actual screwing, of course, but not unbearably impatient. I regularly felt deeply happy, laying there entangled with a sleeping Tina, her hair tickling my nose. She was a restless sleeper and woke me up regularly. I didn´t mind, it gave me an extra opportunity to smell her ear or squeeze her tit.

CHAPTER 7 -- ALPENBLICK ACTIVITIES

Two virginities lost. No regerts.

The bus passing in the vicinity of the pyramids was going to Bawiti, an oasis in the middle of the desert. There was nothing there worth seeing, so it was a safe bet if you wanted to avoid doing touristy things. The bus was very full, like Egyptian buses always seemed to be. We were lucky enough to have seats, though. We drove for a very long time and then Cairo started to grow less dense and then we drove for another long time and then Cairo was beginning to look like not-Cairo and then we passed the pyramids in the distance and then came the desert.

The desert was ugly. We were disappointed, we had a romantic notion of sand-dunes in decorative hues of brown and red but the desert just looked like a dirty, messy back yard that went on forever. Oh well, never mind and on we went for some hours and then the front window exploded. There was glass everywhere, particularly on the poor driver, but the shards were not sharp fortunately. He was not cut, but driving without the windscreen proved to be very tricky. Sandstorm in the bus and most of it on the driver right in his face like people in Cairo but much worse. One of the passengers tried to help him by holding a newspaper in front of his face and shout an occasional instruction when he seemed to leave the road. It didn´t matter all that much, by the way, since the difference between road and not-road was minimal.

I did think of my ride with the Danish hearse, though. This was in some ways a more fitting vehicle for dead people than the hearse, which was so nice when alive. As dead you wouldn´t worry about the sandstorm, and you would arrive already half buried. We did, thick layer of sand everywhere. Passengers sand zombies, driver super-buried extra sandy psychopomp to us walking dead. Newspaper sand-blasted and finished.

The place to stay in Bawiti was, absurdly, called Hotel Alpenblick (view of the Alps). The architecture was stark. A concrete box with concrete walls and a concrete roof. Inside were more concrete walls making concrete rooms. Floors were not concrete, though, it was just the good old sandy ground. In each room two beds, a naked lightbulb and a window with no glass. There was a shutter you could close in case of sandstorm. We had our own room here. Exciting...

The owner of this fine hotel was Salah. He was a very friendly and gregarious person who loved to chat with his guests in crappy English. He often asked guests to come visit him at his home and have dinner, and he often took us and his other guests on outings and excursions in his jeep. For these activities he charged nothing, and he was very trusting when it came to what we ate and drank. He had a book where we were supposed to write down what we had and we could pay whenever we wanted. Very nice, and very embarrassing when one of the guests stiffed him and left on a very early bus without paying. The rest of us chipped in to make it good, but still.