Grounded

In the past four months, I've taken two flights. Both to Oakland. That barely qualifies as a flight. You take off, you order a ginger ale, you have thirty seconds to finish it, you land.

As my flight began its descent into LAX, the old feelings returned. The wanderlust, you can call it. The desire to get the heck out of wherever you may be. Man, I miss it.

I'm not complaining. You have to know what it feels like to be grounded, to fully appreciate what it means to fly. And I can't wait to fly.

Attack of the Habibis

I won't go into the Pyramids much. I saw them. I took pictures. I stared at them for what seemed like an hour, unable to fathom that after nearly 4,000 years(!), these tombs are still here. They are true wonders of the world. See them before you die.

What I really want to talk about are the habibis.

Habibi is an arabic term that means something like darling, or if you're so inclined, hottie. This was told to us by Osama, our tour bus driver. As Osama was taking our pictures in front of the Great Pyramid of Cheops, he turned and pointed to a fleet of jumbo tour buses. "Habibi!" He hollered.

On cue, they came forth. Dressed in halter tops, tube tops, short and tight tops. Cleavage out in full force. Hip-hugging hot pants and short shorts, some in denim, some in spandex, revealing legs of all shapes and colors. Habibis, no doubt Western, with their S.O.'s hiding behind behemoth DSLRs, streaming from luxury coaches. While their boyfriends and husbands clicking away, they posed in front of the Pyramids like Vogue models.


*J, center. Habibi, right.*

I was in shock. If anyone does some research before visiting Egypt, when reading about how to dress, they'll come across words such as "modest", "respectful" and "for the love of God, cover your skin". Either the habibis totally disregarded what their Lonely Planet guidebook told them, or they just didn't know.

I thought about the habibis as I rode my tour bus back to downtown Cairo. How would the locals view these women? Would they leer and catcall? Would they feel disrespected and think all Westerners as ignorant and disrespectful?

Or would they even see these habibis at all? Will these tourists go back in their buses, go straight to their five-star hotels or private resort, and not once step foot on the streets of Cairo?

It turns out, most of the habibis were head to the same place M, J and I were going; On a little cruise down the Nile River...

It's Not Easy

*The view from our hotel - Downtown Cairo*

Nothing about your first day in Cairo is easy.

Taxis rides in Cairo are not easy. The driving is erratic. You're bombarded by smog. You're surrounded by calls to prayer. Traffic lights are suggestions. Crosswalks don't exist. Our driver, Muhammad, was friendly. "If you need to go anywhere, call me." He said. M was ecstatic to make a new friend. I just wanted to check in.

Checking into your hotel is not easy. We handed our passports to the clerk, a dead ringer for Harry Potter. He smiled at us, while the manager, a tall man with a thick mustache and bad teeth, pored over the reservation book. "I don't recognize your tour company." He said. The three of us looked like we just crapped our pants. The manager looked up and smiled. "Relax! You're in Egypt." Yes, of course, relax. Perfectly easy.

Ordering authentic Egyptian food is not easy. "We gotta get outta here," I said to M and J. We had spent two hours in our hotel room, wondering if this was even our room to begin with. The muezzin was beckoning all to the mosque next door. We had to leave.

Egyptian Harry Potter directed us to a place a block away. "Very good and very cheap." We stared at the menu above the counter, letters completely in Arabic. We hoped the letters would transform to English. Five minutes later, I stepped to the counter and said the only food item that I remembered from my guidebook. "Fool?"

"Eh??" The counter guy asked. "Fooooool?" I replied.

"Fuul?"

"YES!"

We ordered fuul and shwarma and waited ten minutes. Turns out, when the cashier hands you a receipt, you hand that over to another guy, who fills your order. Whatever. The fuul was good.

Even walking the quarter-mile back to your hotel is not easy in Cairo. In the evening, during the heart of Ramadan, the streets are lined with locals, sipping tea, smoking hooka. These locals are quite friendly. Especially if you look...non-Egyptian. Five of these locals waved to us as we walked past them. M, desperate for some local interaction, turned to J and me. "Why don't we hang out?" "Yes, of course." I say to myself. "This is totally normal. Shoot the breeze with five guys who look as if we're just dying to hand over all our Egyptian pounds. No worries at all."

Five guys turned into seven. They asked us simple questions; Where are we from. Where else have we gone, etc. A tray of glasses, filled to the brim with tea, appeared. They handed us a glass each. "Please, drink." I looked at M and J. I shrugged my shoulders. Hey, why not?

We continued our conversation. They spoke in broken English. We knew no Arabic. Other than "fuul". That was of no help now.

After half an hour of talking, they started to leave, one by one. "We'll be back!" One of the guys, Mohammed, shouted over his shoulder as he bolted across the street. Five minutes later, as the three of us stared down, into our cups, I turned to M and J. "They stuck us with the bill for the tea, didn't they?" An old man to my left cackled. My stomach twisted as the man showed me a picture of Omar Sharif on his cell phone. "Just get me outta here." I thought. "Take me back to Athens. Or L.A. Anywhere but here..."

Ten minutes later, they still didn't show. "Guys, I'll take care of it." M said, as he rose to talk to the shop owner about the bill. Then they appeared, our new friends, stunned that we could possibly leave so soon. They insist that we stay for a bit. I shook my head. "We have to get up early, guys. " We shook their hands, they waved goodbye, and we headed to our hotel. My stomach untwisted. Why was I so worked up? Those guys couldn't be THAT friendly, could they?

As I lay in bed that night, wondering if the next day would be any easier, I thought, "What kind of city is this? And why do I feel so alive?"

Hiatus

I realize it's been a while. I still have plenty to write about Egypt and Turkey, but this life thing pulls me away.

I have at least two stories left in me. I'll also share my pictures from Cairo and Istanbul. Can't believe it's been four months!

As for future travel, I might go to Hong Kong and Tokyo, but that won't be for a while. In the meantime, I'll look at short trips close to home. Maybe even enjoying what home has to offer.

Habibi the Cat

I haven't forgotten about my posts about the Mancation. Those posts will come. For now, here's a video of me and a cat outside of Khan al-Khalili in Cairo. I named the cat Habibi, for reasons that may come in a future blog post.

Still Amazing

It took a few weeks, but I'm finally caught up with The Amazing Race.

Hard to believe that Phil and the gang have been around for 15 seasons. Make that 14. Nobody counts the Family Edition.

The Globetrotters have the potential to be one of my favorite teams in the history of the series. They bring a positive attitude every leg, they're highly competitive and they're hilarious. Their dancing at the detour last Sunday is the highlight of the season.

Out of the remaining teams, no team is unlikeable. Unless you can't stand Ericka's screeching. I'm indifferent.

If Flight Time and Big Easy don't take this race, I'll be sorely disappointed.

Anyone else watching? Who are you pulling for?

Aegina Through the Back Door

Aegina is pronounced AY-gah-nah. Not ah-JYE-nah, like I had been saying it. The correct way of saying isn't nearly as funny.

Aegina is a forty minute boat ride from Piraeus Harbor. It takes the same amount of time as a ride from Long Beach to Catalina. My friend Nate recommended the island, suggesting I rent a scooter and wander the roads. When he told me he crashed twice, I thanked him for his suggestion, but yeah, I'm gonna walk this.

We walked to a nearby beach and did nothing. M and J took a dip in the sea. I crashed on a lounge chair for two hours straight. The weather wasn't beach-friendly. Clouds built in the distance. The sun came out, hid for a few minutes, then appeared again. The humidity that plagued us all day in Athens failed to show up.



With two hours to kill before boarding the ferry back to Athens, M, J and I wandered. Our Guru Rick Steves emphasizes Back Door Travel; Ditching the guide book, veer off the beaten path and explore. There isn't much to see in Aegina at dusk on a Sunday evening. Shops have closed. Families are preparing dinner. The streets are deserted, except for the occasional moped passing through.



We were heading back to the dock when we passed a church. It was like any Greek Orthodox church we've come across. Two brick-red domes on each side of the roof, flanking a bigger dome in the middle. There was a red carpet leading to the church's entrance. A small crowd had gathered. I stopped and nodded at M and J. "I think something's happening here." I thought.

And then they came. A rush of people, looking their best, coming from the other side of the street. Men in designer shirts. Young women in fancy dresses. Old men and women ambling. Children dragged by their parents. All headed toward the entrance.

The groom arrived in a black sedan. He was dressed in gray tuxedo. He entered the church to applause. An old man, also in a gray suit, stood by the outer gate. M approached him "Is this a wedding?" "Yes, yes, wedding..." The old man replied. He bolted for the church.

Thirty minutes till the ferry was to leave, and the bride had yet to show. We didn't want to leave. "Can we just wait a few more minutes?" M pleaded. The sun had long since disappeared. It was getting late.

The three of us headed for the dock. We never saw the bride. As the boat took us to Pireaus, questions ran through my mind. How did her wedding dress look? Was she young? Did she look like the woman in My Big Fat Greek Wedding?

Was our back door tour of Aegina a success? Hard to say. It was a quiet back door, with a little glimpse of everyday life on a Greek isle. I count that as success. I was satisfied.