Tag Archives: travel

Nov 14 2011
5 Comments
Anecdotes, Travelling, Two minute read

On the Moon and Under the Sea: Egypt’s White Desert

Yellow sand. Blue Sky. White Chalk. Colors.

When last with you, I chronicled my brush with food poisoning that was the result of a bacteria-rich egg sandwich. So weak was I on Thursday, November 3, 2011, that I could barely load episodes of Parks and Recreation as I lay curled on my bed in a fetal position, choking down mugs of vegetable broth.

At any rate, when I awoke the next day at the ripe hour of 7:30 am with only a dull pain in my empty stomach, my last retching completed at 1: 30 am in the morning, I decided I was well enough to go on an off-road-camping-desert-expedition-exploration-adventure centered around the desperate hunt for the remains of mythological sea creatures. Even though we didn’t find the Snorkoloptus, the excursion was still amazing, especially after the desert madness set in.

4 companions, 4 wheels, 4 days-worth of body filth, 4 different camping locations, and a whole lot of mutual annoyance while rambling through the beautiful, ethereal shapes of the White Desert made for a trip that I hope to rub in the faces of my great-grandchildren as we’re floating above a wasted earth in our spher0ships. “Before we destroyed the earth, kids, there was a lot of cool stuff there, like the White Desert in Egypt, something you’ll never get to see. We also ate peanut butter instead of this space paste. And no one was ever sad.”

Located in western Egypt, the White Desert is known for its beautiful sculptures carved by the wind, sand, and rain out of the chalk formed from the remnants of the sea creature skeletons, since the entire area used to be at the bottom of the ocean. As we tumbled around the desert, off and occasionally on-roading in the jeep, we saw breathtaking cliffs, moon-like landscapes, rolling sand dunes, mystical oases, and occasional groups of leathery European tourists, by far the least attractive things in the desert.

The colors themselves deserve an entire blogpost. Nay, an entire blog. Each sunset and sunrise was a feast for the eyes, a palette of ever changing shades that would make a MAC eyeshadow case blush. And at night, our world was lit up by the milky rays of a waxing moon as we tried to run away from our moon shadows and one of us wouldn’t stop singing that song by Cat Stevens. As I look back now on our last night there, I can see myself, a tiny figure, lying in a valley surrounded by forlorn, other-worldly cliffs, the moon illuminating the earth in its pale light while the ghosts of extinct sea creatures float over me. It was the closest I’ll ever get to time, space, and deep ocean travel.

Note: I remembered to charge my battery and bring my camera, but I forgot to put my charged battery back into my camera. Therefore, all pictures are compliments of a friend who was on the trip. See his flickr site here.

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Nov 04 2011
4 Comments
Anecdotes, Humorous, One minute read

Say No to the Egg Sandwich

Note: it did not look this good

I have recently tired of my daily falafel sandwich, and have taken to eating the mediocre and overpriced sandwiches from the cafeteria on campus. The main interesting feature about them is that they are cold, whereas the falafel sandwich was hot. This provides me with the variety that spices my life. It doesn’t matter which one you pick, they all essentially taste the same and the meatless ones all cost the same.

Unfortunately, one of these sandwiches provided me with an experience that left me with a valuable lesson and the answer to one of the more important questions of life, that question being:

Should I eat this thing that looks like an egg sandwich the day before I’m going camping?

The answer is no. You should not eat that thing that looks like an egg sandwich the day before you go camping. Here is a non-exhaustive list of reasons why:

1. Regardless of where you are in the world, mayonnaise is essentially a petri dish, a fertile and suitable growing environment for all kinds of bacteria.

2. Even in the states, egg salad is at least 50% mayonnaise. Overseas, this percentage jumps to 70-80%.

3. People seem to believe that an egg sandwich, as a finished product, can be left anywhere for an unlimited amount of time and will not go bad: the backseat in a hot car, on the picnic blanket in the sun, or outside the cafeteria in Cairo. This is patently not true

4. The incredibly mushy texture of the sandwich indicates that the contents of said treat have been pressed together for no small length of time. To someone slightly less hungry with a firmer grasp of common sense, this would be what is referred to as a “bad sign.”

5. The bizarre sweet flavor of the sandwich, and the fact that even after consuming it I wasn’t sure whether or not it had egg in it, also indicate that it was either spoiled or never fit for human consumption in the first place.

At any rate, as a result of said “egg” sandwich, I’ve been subject to one of the most thorough purification treatments I’ve ever had, something rich European ladies would pay thousands for I’m sure.

And the best part of all is that I feel better enough now to go camping! Wish me luck and see you on Tuesday, probably!

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Oct 19 2011
2 Comments
Anecdotes, Stories, Two minute read

My Boring Life part 27: Hit by a Car

These are cars. Something like one of them hit me.

The first thing I thought after the car hit me was that the experience would make a great blog post, not realizing at the time how boring stories about accidental car-human interactions could be.  I found out later on that even thinking about what had happened was incredibly tedious, let alone telling the story to other people. Despite my initial hope, a non-fatal or non-injury car accident seems as normal as snack time at soccer practice.

The whole ordeal felt as uninteresting as a conversation with a drive-thru window employee: I and my colleague were walking in the street along with the rest of Cairo. He asks me how I exercise. I tell him I don’t. The car hits me from behind at a fairly slow pace, ramming roughly into my left side. My colleague accidentally gropes me as he yanks me out of the way. I let off a stream of unsavory speech and pronounce fanatical threats (at the car, not him). And then I descend into the metro station and meet a nice family from Kansas before heading home, right as rain.

Not only is the story itself banal, but it’s difficult for people to comprehend it since oftentimes (as in the two times I’ve told people), there is no shared background with regard to close encounters of the vehicular kind. For example, when you’re telling a story about a time you got a sandwich, there is a ready-made paradigm for understanding the experience. It’s likely your audience has a background in sandwich eating and can ask informed questions like: What kind of sandwich did you get? How much did it cost? Was it good? And then they might make a statement like, “Ooo…that sounds good. I should try that sometime.”

However, when you tell someone you were hit by a car, the same lexicon of understanding just does not exist. Though people want to care, they simply don’t. This is especially true if you weren’t hurt. The first question is “Are you okay?” and if you the answer is yes, then they’ve likely lost what little interest they were feigning in the first place. They might ask, “How did it happen?” but if you’re okay, than it’s probably a boring story anyways and so you’ll get a statement indicating you were slightly in the wrong, like “Be careful!” Also, the idea the person they’re talking to was in such a foreign situation and could have either been maimed or killed only hours earlier is weird and causes uncomfortable thinking about death and the meaning of life. Therefore, for everyone’s sake, it’s best to stick to talking about things people understand, like food, love, and laughter. Car accidents should be discussed only when involving circus animals or family members you thought were dead.

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Oct 13 2011
6 Comments
Anecdotes, Humorous, Three minute read

I Be in Cairo, Maties!

my worthy vessel!

Arrrrr, me hearties! It be another cool mornin’ in Cairo, Egypt, where I be setting me anchor fer the next couple o’moons.

All me grog be gone and me maties be floatin’ off on them wink-eyed adventures. It just be me, me parchment, and me quill left ter tack the sails down till the golden lady shine her pretty face.

On the morrow, I be crossing swords with an Arabic quiz me captain put to me, and if I wants ter stay off the plank I best show it both sides o’ hell. But in the witchin’ hours, me mind be keen on gettin’ lost at sea, if ye catch me drift.

The winds be a changin’ these days. Times were in the deadly moons of August when one couldn’t hardly set sail for the blasted hell fire settin the sea a’boil. Aye, it was a hard times fer the lot of us, our breeches all a’moistened with our brow dew, and our foot fingers all a’wrinkle from the boot ponds. Ye scallywag land lubbers hasn’t got the first dawn’s twinklin’ o’the sufferin we sailed through.

But now the mooney lass shows ‘er pearly face o’er Mohandiseen when I be drinkin’ my hot elixers and I be as comfortable as a seagull in a crow’s nest. And then I gets ter thinkin’ of the days ‘fore the swashbucklin’ in this here sweet trade o’ Arabic fellowships. And I gets ter yearnin’ for them colored trees in fall months and for the sweater wearin’ and pumpkin latte drinkin’ me maties be postin on their facebook poop decks. And I thinks about me old lady and the old man, and me wretched brat siblings I loves as much as any buccaneer loves his dubloons.

And I ain’t bein’ lily-livered or sentimental like, but sometimes me thinks, “Arrrr, them colored trees sure put that there sparkle in my eye like a young corsair eyein’ his first cut o’booty. And I bet my right eye and no regrets that my blasted sister be readyin’ to battle a swaggy quiz at sailin’ school right in this here drop o’time.” But I swear on hell’s brimstone that  in the depths o’me heart ocean, I knows I only be missin’ one out o’the scores of fall voyages I be set to take this side o’the pearly gates.

So set yer sails and polish yer decks, ye sorry sons of biscuit eaters! I may be pillagin’ this here side of the pond, but I be returnin’ come hell or high water. I be comin’ to make bay at me parents’ abode and hunt fer th’ jobs. I be comin’ to plunder the wealth o’me sister’s weddin’ guests and strike fear into th’ hearts o’the caterers. I be comin’. And I be seein’ them colored leaves on me screen saver ‘til that dawn rises.

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Oct 08 2011
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Fiction, Humorous, One minute read

Wait Don’t Go! Bring Me Some Cheese!

Sure is flat out there

I saw a foreign man riding a bicycle in my neighborhood, and it inspired this post:

One summer day, a Dutch man put on his jean shorts and went for a bike ride. Out the wicker gate he flew, peddling as fast as he could, unimpeded by inclines and worries on this bright morning. He waved to his neighbors as he whizzed past: “Hallo Greta! Hallo Pieter!  Hallo Klaas!” Off he sped into the calm tilled farmland of the low country, a collage of yellow and varied greens underneath a familiar powder blue sky.

He slowed down once he made it past the last obvious vestiges of civilization and was left to silent contemplation of the surrounding cultivated greenery. The questions that had seemed so important to him in the city faded away as he was confronted with the unchanging cycle of the world around him, a rhythm that would precede and outlast him by millennia. Who was he on this green earth, a peach colored pinpoint in a landscape that stretched beyond the crusty surface of the world and into the stars? The wind tickled the tops of the green things all around, and the world answered his question very clearly in a language he could never understand.

His bike rolled along lazily, savoring the pavement. He came upon an intersection. He looked both ways and then proceeded to pass through it. At that very moment he was sucked into a vortex more powerful than both time and space, and was teleported to Zoharia Street in Mohandiseen, Cairo, along with his name brand sunglasses and jean shorts. 20 feet away and at the same time, I was returning with toilet paper from our local mini-mart and I saw this foreign apparition as he sailed along on his bike, oblivious to the world around him. No doubt he hadn’t time to recognize the sudden change of scenery or had so completely engrossed himself in contemplation of tree fluffiness that he was incapable of seeing the reality around him.

I distinctly remember he was not whistling. But still, he carried a whistle-y air about him, something that made everything else seem like an afterthought. Away he passed, out of sight and back to the re-entrance vortex where he could once again continue his summer thoughts. I thought I saw the air shimmer around him with the last preserved summer rays, but then the moment was gone, and I went home, trudged up the 5 flights stairs with my toilet paper, and began making dinner.

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