Sunday, February 22

I was determined to see the Pyramids, so as we pulled into Alexandria, I got up early and attempted to resume human life. When I went to the buffet to fetch some rolls and fruit, I noticed that hand-sanitizer dispensers were now in the elevators. At the buffet, you could no longer help yourself. The legions of young, polite restaurant attendants were now working double-time and wearing plastic gloves. Jeez, I thought it was food poisoning. Could it be contagious?

The excursion to the Pyramids is a massive 13-hour ordeal. Mark just wasn’t up for it. Since he’s been talking about visiting Egypt for years, I knew he had it bad. The day before, I couldn’t have left the cabin if you’d paid me, but today I had to face Cairo on my own.

A three-hour drive to Giza would test anyone’s patience. But this is a drive through grotty Alexandria, past desert-hugging pigeon farms (you heard me), and back into urban dreck – on a road under construction, in a bus that needs new shocks. One woman, whose illness was just hitting her, spent the ride filling up barf bags and visiting the chemical toilet nestled by the back stairs.

Adrenaline kept the rest of us going, and finally we could see the Pyramids on the horizon. We pulled into a sea of stinky buses between the two larger pyramids, and were given about half an hour to look around. Trust me, that is not enough time. But I took some photos, dodged some camels, and was approached by 317 vendors.

Back into the bus to shuttle up the hill for a different vantage point where it was possible to take photos of all 3 of the famous Giza Pyramids at once. (Did you know there are also several smaller ones nearby?) Then a drive down the hill to see the Sphinx. It’s not as big as you might think, but it sure is beautiful. And, of course, we were not really given enough time to fully explore the area.

I enjoyed seeing that lots of locals were visiting Giza that day. Even among the youngest, most affluent and most stylish couples, the woman was wearing a headscarf. So this place definitely dials up the religion compared to Turkey. But I also saw women driving and out on their own, so I didn’t feel too uncomfortable. Most of the headscarves were colorful, sometimes embellished, and very pretty. I only saw a few women covering all but their eyes. Those headscarves were always black.

Our guide, Mona, wore a colorful headscarf and blue jeans. She is 39, educated, and that day received a phone call from her 14-year-old son who had just learned his scores on some major exams. He attends a school in the British system, which, she says, offers the best chance to pursue a college degree outside Egypt.

So Cairo may not be repressive, but it is a dump. I mean this literally (there is garbage in the streets) and figuratively, in that there seems to be, shall we say, a more relaxed pursuit of public cleanliness. Mona told us that the locals don’t care what the outside of their houses look like (another guide revealed that you must pay more tax once your residence is “finished”) so they often look tumble-down from the outside, even if they are brand new. We frequently saw re-bar sticking up from the rooftops in case the next generation wants to build above – or perhaps to prove that the building is unfinished.

Between the dust blowing in from the desert and the awful pollution, everything in Cairo has a dingy brown color. Even the Nile. The next stop on our tour was the “Nile in Style” section, for which we boarded a boat and sailed up and down the river while we had lunch and were assaulted with over-amplified music. I was afraid to eat after the experience in Turkey, but nibbled on just enough protein and starch to keep me going.

After the belly dancer did her thing, causing a blushing face or two, some dude in a twirly cape spun around and around and worked up a sweat. Then, just as I’d always dreamed, a crooner of sorts provided his interpretations of Frank Sinatra songs. There was a Viggo Mortensen lookalike sitting across from me at my table, and we shared a “this is way weird!” look.


By the way, if you want a scenic tour of the Nile, don’t attempt it in Cairo. All you’ll see is more ugly apartment buildings. The boat was “in style” enough, but I can see why they distracted us from the scenery out the windows.

Next stop was the Citadel of Saladin which contains the mosque of Mohammed Ali. It has a beautiful exterior made with alabaster (dirty, of course), and we had to take off or cover our shoes to go inside.

I’m not well versed in religious history, and I wasn’t being a very good listener that day, but apparently the guy who transformed Egypt into a Muslim nation was from Albania. According to Mona, and to the guide in Turkey, to be a “good Muslim” (their words) you must believe in Jesus and be respectful of the Virgin Mary. In other words, Muslims honor the other Abrahamic religions and view Christians and Jews as “brothers of the book” – even if they are different books, I guess.

Expansive views of Cairo were possible from the ramparts of the citadel, and through the haze you could see the pyramids in the distance. There were more families and couples there, which was sweet to see.

It would have been a proper end to the tour. But no – we then drove back to Giza and circled the slum for an hour until we found parking near a “papyrus institute” (one of many) where we were ushered in for an overlong shopping opportunity. I bought Mark a couple of little statues of Egyptian gods that he wanted. But when the salesman asks you what bus number you are on, you know there’s a kickback involved.
Then, at 6:30, 10 hours after we left, we started the drive back to Alexandria – most of it in the dark.

When I got to my cabin, Mark was lying there, half comatose. He’d been to see the ship’s doctor, who told him that something had happened in Turkey that crippled a lot of people. Mark had been given a shot in the butt that allowed him to sleep most of the day away, and some prescription-strength Immodium.

Ick.