I had the pleasure of attending a “Hafla Galabiya” today, or rather, a Galabiya Party. In said party, everyone was supposed to bring either an American or Egyptian dish and wear traditional Egyptian clothing. Unfortunately, only about 5 people wore galabiyas, since they’re actually quite funny to wear for hip young people like ourselves; it would be the equivalent of wearing my prairie dress I suppose.
The party was a success in the food department, however. When we finally arrived about an hour late, we found quite a spread on the buffet table and, I, ravenous with hunger and hobbled by indecision, spent the next 10 minutes going crazy over what foods and desserts to choose. Eventually, I consumed sustenance and began to enjoy myself. Though some talented party-attendees sang, we did not dance together like the heathen kings of old. Thus I suggested we have a party for traditional American and Egyptian dance in the future. I hope it comes to pass since this means square dancing and contra dancing! Ann Cowan would be so proud….
But I would like to talk about our shower. You know you’re showering in our apartment in Egypt when:
1. You turn on the water in the shower and find there is none.
2. The water spurts out sporadically much like an asthmatic whale might expel water.
3. The water returns after an abscence of a few hours but it is apparently drawn directly from the Nile and thus brown in color.
4. The water is either scalding hot or semi-cold.
5. No matter how hard you try, and despite the shower curtain, the bathroom floor and bathmat is soaked after even the shortest of showers.
6. The shower works and you find it brown because of the filth on your feet.
Luckily I only go through this experience a few times a week….#silverlining
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!).
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.