At least we had the stuffed parrots

I’ll be honest. I’ve done nothing interesting for the past 48 hours, unless you count cooking dinner and going to a hotel bar interesting, in which case both you and I need to get out more.

The roomies and I made #lentilsoup last night and the tomatoes we used tasted like they came from the fields of heaven. It was like I had never tasted a tomato before. Every tomato will now turn to ash in my mouth as I remember the sweetness of the day my eyes were opened. But really, they were pretty good.

Afterwards, we went to the CASA fellow get together at the Happy City hotel rooftop lounge. They had done a fair job of wrapping the entire place in strands of lights, however, I only counted three that were actually functional. This slight fault was made up for by the strategically placed stuffed parrots hanging from the ceiling. There were also things that looked eerily similar to precious moments figurines, but alas, they were of a different make.

One of our critical mistakes of the evening was not eating the #lentilsoup we had made, since we thought there were going to be free appetizers which could easily turn into #freedinner. The free appetizers turned out to be a lone bowl of beans and so we simply drank dinner (beer)/starved until we got some late night Egyptian t-bell before going to bed. It was fun. We talked a little about jelly beans.

There will be more adventures later on, I think. I suggested going to the pyramids last night for an illicit after-curfew excursion but there was hesitation for some reason. I was like, “I’ll bring my saber so it’s not like safety will be an issue.” But there were no takers. And then I screamed, “No really, I have a freakin’ saber right here,” and I whipped it out of my purse but everyone got all weirded out. People can be strange.

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What’s that silver vat for?

The first grocery shopping trips in foreign lands are always mini-adventures, as are many otherwise ordinary activities. I wanted to get milk so I could make my Nescafe properly and savor its delicate taste every morning and tea time as I have for the past year. Half milk, half water, one teaspoon of Nescafe, and a packet of Splenda. Curses upon anyone who comes between me and my Nescafe reverie.

We went to a dairy place (I forgot the name for it in Arabic), a little store where one would purchase all milk, yogurt, egg, and cheese needs, and after we had gotten our dozen eggs and apricot jam, we asked for a kilo of milk as well. I was expecting one of those boxes of ultra-pasteurized milk that I remembered from my time in Morocco, but even as I was picturing them in my head, I turned around and a gigantic silver vat  had appeared in the center of the room out of nowhere.

I don’t know how I missed it beforehand or why I didn’t think about how odd it looked to me, but there it was, the veritable vat in the room, the china in the bull-closet. And then as I watched, a young man took a measuring cup and dunked his arm down into an opening in the vaguely pyramidical vat cover and out the cup came full of (fresh?) milk. He poured it into a bag, tied it up, tossed it into our shopping bag, and we were on our way.

Huh, I thought. That’s not what I was expecting.

Tonight we’re having a little get together with the other CASA fellows at Happy City hotel. I imagine it is staffed by muppets.

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The pajama-d strong lady

We finally moved out of the Mayfair hotel today, after eating our last delicious breakfast of bread and egg and cheese and coffee or tea and enjoying our last morsels of internet on the peaceful balcony amongst the trees (so we thought/hoped—more on this later. Cliffhanger!).

It was fairly simple for me to get out of my room….I just shoved my laptop into my backpack and neatly gathered my trash  into a plastic bag and that was that. For my future roommate Shawna, however, things were a bit more complicated since she’d not had the luxury of losing most of her luggage. She was burdened with a gigantic black bag that had originally been over packed by about 30 pounds, giving you a hint of its size, and a smaller bag that was probably filled with rocks.

However, we rose to the challenge of hauling these things down the stairs, down the sidewalk full of booby traps and curbs, and to the street in order to get a taxi,  accomplishing it with minimal complications and only the beginnings of major sweat stains.

The taxi we had hailed pulled over to the curb, breaking away from the street full of typical traffic, and out popped this bespectacled gentleman of perhaps sixty years. He hobbled around the car to the curb and took a look at the enormous black bag and realized it would not fit into his trunk (we understood this moment later on). It then appeared that he was indicating to the back seat of the car, which we knew wouldn’t fit the bag, and was also speaking to us in perfectly clear Egyptian Arabic, which we of course could not understand.

As we remained befuddled as to what he was trying to do, this sturdy Egyptian woman wearing an abaya (robe-like thing) over her pajamas strode over to us looking like she had just come out of her kitchen. Her face was friendly and familiar like a gingerbread house, and her eyes were all crinkly as she looked at us with a mixture of pity, mirth, and the desire to help naive foreign girls. She and the taxi driver stooped down, grasping and then heaving the suitcase onto the top of the car with the same ease as if she were kicking one of her kids away from the stove. I have a feeling she was actually held back by the help of the taxi driver.

Finally understanding what had transpired, I and Shawna thanked the pajama-d strong lady and our grandfather-like taxi driver profusely. She brushed it off lightly and walked away with a knowing smile. We got into the taxi, our lives changed forever.

I have been incredibly impressed by how genuinely friendly and helpful some people have been here in Egypt, and to complete strangers no less. I look forward to more of these experiences.

My baggage came today.

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No boys allowed part 2

The apartment hunting process was stressful to say the least. Not only was there intense pressure to find somewhere to live, we were also completely thrown to the wolves regarding the entire endeavor. When we (I and my roommates) set out today, we had the names of a few brokers we had gotten from random people and places and only a vague idea of what we were looking for. We took the Metro to Doqqi and met up with our first broker, who marched us through the sun, us huffing and puffing behind him as he glided with disdain through the middle of the streets in the face of oncoming traffic. As soon as we walked into the building and I could see way too many wires in the ceiling, I knew there was going to be a problem. Sure enough, the apartment he showed us appeared to be oozing dust and decay. I set my hand down on the railing in the stairwell and when I picked it up it was covered in soot or something equally difficult to remove. Gross.

We left feeling defeated and option-less since all 47 CASA fellows were using the same sources to get housing. Luckily, after sitting in a neighborhood coffee shop for literally 3 hours, we got a call from another broker we had contacted. He came and met us at the coffee shop and brought us to an apartment he had found, which instantly felt a hundred times better than the previous place. I didn’t feel like coughing would bring down a ton of drywall. I felt a shower there would both be feasible and make me a cleaner person.

We all liked the apartment, but in the end, we went with a very similar place upstairs in the same building since we would be able to do a short term contract. The lady we talked to, our neighbor who is also the niece of the owner of the apartment, was very nice, spoke English well, and had two adorable boys. But she was also a very firm lady, who knew exactly what she wanted. And she did not want any men coming into our apartment. “You will not be able to bring your boyfriends here,” she said. Our romantic state with any gentlemen callers wasn’t the issue…it was the fact they were men.

Unfortunately, this is not unusual in Egypt. People are a little conservative, a little nosey. And this is annoying, but at the same time, we liked the apartment, and we were not willing to have this be a deal breaker. So, the end game is that we will be imposing on the hospitality of our guy friends (which we don’t technically have yet) in order to host any events we might have otherwise had in our apartment.

I also petted a puppy today.

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No boys allowed part 1

Guess who has one proportionally short thumb, one proportionally appropriate thumb, an apartment, a phone, and one change of clothes? I do, as well as at least one other person here in Cairo. Future friend? Possibly.

My physical state is deteriorating, having dire affects on my mood and personality. I am jet lagged and subsisted on chips and a croissant for most of today. I haven’t showered yet or changed my clothes since I’ve been here, so I’m getting that grimy backpacker look that instantly indicates to people that they shouldn’t lend me money. And I’ve become prone to long periods of silent staring interrupted by brief outbursts of maniacal laughter. Is that bad?

But on the bright side: I have an apartment! I will be living in the Doqqi neighborhood of Cairo, pronounced “Do’ii” (does that help?), and it’s very close to the campus of the American University of Cairo by metro and also very close to a Pizza Hut, where I intend to have my birthday celebration as well as insist others come for their own birthdays. It’s great for kids.

It’s a three bedroom, 2 bathroom apartment characterized by gaudy furniture, tacky art, and worn furnishings, but it’s got some real charm. I’ll be living there with 2 other girls who both graduated from university a few years ago and have since engaged in very interesting things. I look forward to leeching as much life advice as possible from them. We have a television, so bring on the Arabic news! And Arabic soap operas! And random American movies!

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