February 25, 1993
Thursday Cairo, Egypt
Today
is my first full day in Cairo.
To have local currency I exchanged eighty-five U.S. dollars for 260 Egyptian
pounds.
Expenses for the Day:
130 Egyptian pounds for an all day
private cab and “tour”
25 Egyptian pounds for breakfast
40 Egyptian pounds for a local guide
10 Egyptian pounds for Baron Hotel
clerk
20 Egyptian pounds for Baron Hotel
Assist/Camel boy
10 Egyptian pounds for Post Cards
& Stamps
10 Egyptian pounds for entrance to Pyramids
20 Egyptian pounds for a museum
entrance fee
330 Egyptian pounds for hotel room
The
driver of the taxi for today is also named “Ali.” The Baron Hotel in Heliopolis recommended
him. Ali brought me through the
Necropolis, or The City of the Dead.
Because Cairo
land is expensive, many poor people moved onto a small plot of land if they promise to maintain this plot of land on
which a wealthy family has the family graves
built. So the poor families
maintain and clean the grave site in exchange for squatter's rights to use the
plot at night to sleep and cook. I was
told that over 1,500,000 people live in this fashion. Now I can see how a new city is built over
an old one.
We
drove into the Necropolis, and my driver picked up one of the caretakers, who
for ten Egyptian pounds (baksheesh) gave me a private tour of Mahomet Ali's
family entombment. The public isn't
allowed inside because the building is in bad repair. Each casket told a story by the extensive
carvings hammered into the huge gold-plated caskets. I was led into the throne room where Pasha
Ibrahim ruled. The story is told that
his father, Saladin, was a very strong ruler. Here he had murdered 500 Marmlukes, who were
his former friends and allies because he was told by one of his advisors that
his friends would destroy him, so he had a meeting called. Once all the Marmlukes had gathered in this
room, he had the doors sealed and had them killed here
in this room. Only one ever escaped, who
returned to murder the Pasha as revenge for this act.
I
walked along a wide avenue, outside the Necropolis, filled with more prosperous
stores than in the Bazaar. Every
Egyptian who spoke English also owns a papyrus factory or perfume store that
he'd like me to see. They all wanted
only to show the store to me. Every
Egyptian I to whom I spoke, as I walked along the streets of commerce, tried
the same tactics. First they almost playfully
determine your country of origin (usually they are successful if allowed two
guesses). Then the merchant will speak
to me in a familiar tongue to befriend me.
They
will entice the unwary into their store to sell them a lot of whatever
merchandise the store contains. I
watched this happen time after time. I
was sucked into a few stores regardless of my protests. It was difficult to resist all of them. I enjoyed hibiscus tea in two stores but
bought nothing in either establishment.
Ali
brought me, as requested, to the Giza pyramids. I believe there is a tradition that all
drivers must follow. Ali brought me
there for the standard fleecing given to all tourists who visit this important
site. Nonetheless, this was one of the
best highlights of the entire trip. The
Sphinx and other pyramids, including many more recent digs, will soon be
blocked from public tourism, so some of these monuments will be difficult to
repeat in later years. Finally Cheops, which I alone entered. Twenty minute later I was mounted on a camel
for a solo ride through the desert.
They let me ride off through the desert with the camel. I found the camel as easy to control as a
horse except that to turn the camel, they must be
turned to the right at all times. Even
if you want to turn left, the camel is turned to the right until you are facing
left. Strange. The walk inside the pyramid was worthwhile, because going inside it was like it must have
been a hundred years ago. Every Egyptian
was ready to make money from me. The
Egyptians love Americans, maybe because they spend like crazy.
I
saw dead people and animals left out in public view on the edge of the street,
as though they were trash, but I saw no crime.
I ate an American style hamburger for lunch at the Cairo Hilton, but
they would not let me make some calls from here, probably because I was rather
poorly dressed. Weather permitting;
I’ll go to the Bazaar again before I leave by train to Aswan and Luxor. I had such great plans, which may go astray
because I'll soon run short of money; at the rate I am spending now. I may have to use credit cards to survive.
This
is a wonder filled city. Last night
seems like a dream out of "Aladdin."
If I spent no more time in Cairo, I could easily begin
to believe I've never been here except in a dream. One more cigarette then I'll leave the
restaurant. I'm the only paying customer, everybody else seems to be a family member of some
sort.
A twenty-pound note is worth about $7.60 give or take
some cents.
One-pound
Egyptian is equal to about forty cents.
My
new plan is to tour Cairo. If that is impossible, I'll take the train a
short distance to the north to Alexandria or walk this
city and tour it myself. This means I'll skip Alexandria altogether . .
. who knows, I can change plans as I wish.
This is great.
February 26, 1993 Friday Cairo, Egypt
My
second full day
in Cairo,
and other than the high cost of a hotel, in a half day, I already have spent
over two hundred dollars. I'm surviving
well but, as usual, I still packed too much clothing. I'm having great difficulty finding post
cards to send home. The people are very
friendly and Cairo
is a pleasant place, thus far.
Hopefully,
I'll arrange a city tour today. Because
of Ramadan, I'm trying to not offend the Moslems by smoking, drinking (even
water) or eating between seven a.m. until seven p.m. Afterwards, this city is busy until midnight. Even hardware stores were open and the shoe
stores too! Without question, meals are
an exceptional value. As I write, I am
enjoying a huge breakfast at 5:30 a.m. I woke around four a.m. to Islamic holy
chanting which reverberated through the narrow city streets.. It was wonderful to awake and immediately
remember that I am in the ancient city of Cairo, Egypt.
Most
people speak English well enough for me to communicate all but the most complex
of ideas. If I should attempt complex
thoughts in English, the typical Egyptian would give a courteous yes and an
acknowledging smile, even though the idea I tried to express may have
thoroughly escaped him. Always gracious,
they will go to great lengths to avoid having visitors or travelers lose face.
Ramadan
begins at seven a.m.
today; I’ll eat at the pleasant, hotel coffee shop where breads and pastries
were provided. At breakfast, I sit
alone. The early hour and Ramadan have
begun already. During the hour I ate, not one other person has come to enjoy
this great buffet. There is a wide
variety of fruit, lamb with vegetables, many French and Egyptian style pastries
and breads, eggs and breakfast meats offered at the hotel.
Now
the morning sun has opened the gates of vision outward, which only minutes
before were hidden by darkness. I'm only
a little tired even though I've drunk four cups of a thick dark viscous fluid
they serve with aplomb called 'Neskaffe' -- supposedly coffee American
style. It more aptly resembles a drink
between American and Turkish styles.
The
weather was terrific, no rain and temperature is, maybe, 70E F at eight a.m. I slept on the covers, not under them, with
the window open all last night. I
sprayed myself with mosquito repellant (containing DEET) at night and I have no
bites this morning.
Today,
is Friday, an especially holy day of the week and since it occurs during
Ramadan causes me to question whether it will be easy to explore Cairo since
many monuments and exhibits will be closed today. Friday is similar to how we treat Sunday in
the U.S.
except that most everyone is Moslem and while the state of Egypt
professes to be secular, it is very strongly influenced by clerical community
leaders.
There
exists strong conflict between the more moderate Sunni Muslims, currently in
power, headed by Mubarak and the clerical influences, most strongly entrenched
in southern (or upper) Egypt by the Shiite Moslems. Before completing the plans for this trip I
had to evaluate the risks posed by this problem and if it was flashing too many
times in places I would travel to. My
evaluation was not correct. Every day
there is more news of pitched battles, bomb explosions, and random shootings
often aimed directly at disturbing the tourist trade. Without the tourist money, the current
government would fold. I must be
vigilant.
February 27, 1993
Saturday Cairo, Egypt
I
visited several mosques and the Citadel.
I bought a train ticket to Aswan and Luxor. My train car leaves from gate eight, at nine p.m.,
from the Ramses Station. Before leaving the Sherazadeh Hotel where I had a nice room on the
tenth floor overlooking the Nile
at a cost of fifty dollars nightly, plus lots of Baksheesh to everyone.
The
Citadel was fantastic. The guide brought
me through private areas, including the guest palace (for some baksheesh). I took a lot of photos there. Probably, this is finest example of the
Ottoman Turkish architecture to witness.
Tonight
I leave on the train to go to Luxor, Aswan and some smaller
towns by second-class coach. Gate eight at nine p.m. I hope that this trip
is worthwhile. In thirty minutes the
plane departs. I've already waited an
hour because I was advised to get here early.
People are friendly and the food is tasty, but poverty abounds and it is
depressing. I had a good night's sleep
last night and caught up on my sluggishness from jet lag.
I
arranged this train trip through upper Egypt with a
budget of three hundred fifty dollars. I
have exceeded my budget and will probably go home sooner than I planned. The money I paid covers everything except
meals and the trip back. I boarded the
train and found my reserved seat quickly enough. No animals, water pipes, or loud chanting
music on this car. The passengers in
third class cars are not so restricted.
A lot of Western European travelers and few middle-class Egyptians are my
companions for this overnight journey.
All upholstery is well worn and no more than any three chairs in this
car have matching patterns or colors.
Upholstery is only replaced when badly ripped or torn. The paint on the
walls is scuffed, but not dirty or graffiti laden. Within twenty minutes of boarding I was
sleeping and remained in that state until 1:30 a.m. My sleep was comfortable despite the
frequent jarring of the train reminiscent of Franco's Spanish trains along the Cote d'Azure/Costa del
Sol area along the Mediterranean Sea.
Everything
was quiet until a man entered the train with a wheeled tray selling very hot
red hibiscus tea. On his heels came
another vendor selling a variety of flavored sodas in the bottle, rattling
through the car. It did not seem likely
that many passengers could remain asleep through the musical overtures of the
clattering bottles. I might have
purchased a bottle except for its obvious lack of variation from room
temperature that was exceedingly warm for this hour of the morning.
Somehow,
the wild hodgepodge of mismatched interior suddenly strikes me: pale mustard walls, red carpeting over deep
blue tiles, green Venetian blinds, aqua curtains hanging like so many dish
towels, and all over the above is brought together with a gray ceiling and
chairs in a clash of patterns in light brown, dark green, and yellow that I am
certain the intent, if there ever was one, is to keep people awake. The toilet
here on the train was not anything I would covet. No one ventured into the toilet room unless
they were prepared to get out quickly.
February 28, 1993 Sunday Cairo to Aswan
As
the morning sun began to rise at six a.m., the visions of Egypt
began anew. The most popular mode of
transportation after autos are donkeys. Camels were rather rare, but more common than
bikes. Skin color seems to be getting
dramatically darker. As we travel south
(up the Nile),
numerous water-retrieving apparatus dots the riverbanks -- primarily one
cantilevered device to hook a pail on the end.
It would be balanced by the mud and straw weight that is adhering to the
other end of the pole. Labor is cheap,
so even irrigation is handled manually.
Dogs are not liked by most inhabitants here; they are treated somewhat
like a big rat -- almost always chased away, not kept as pets. They roam the streets, and when they meet
their death, their corpse will lie on the side of a road for far too many
days. The Quran, the Muslim Holy Bible,
advises its adherents that dogs are dirty and evil.
At
eight a.m. I am close to Luxor. I notice that brown seems to be a popular
costume for the locals. Women's chadors
are still quite predominantly black, but a man's color, I'm told, varies by
group association -- Bedouins wear white.
Western clothes are seemingly less popular in the more rural regions,
yet Luxor
and Aswan
routes are highly touristed and as a consequence, the influence in dress
exerted by Westerners is clear by an occasional Arab in European garb.
It
is now 11 a.m.,
and we are truly in the desert. With
very little exception, everything is colored a very pale ocher. Whenever a little vegetation is seen, often
nearby is a small outcropping of a village. Amazingly all livestock, cows,
sheep, donkeys stand stupidly out in the hot sun. I didn't see shade they could find. We are still about two hours until
arrival.
The
train is moving quickly and shimmying loudly.
I slept about two hours at three different times through the night and
feel rested, but my butt is sore even though the seats are soft enough to call
comfortable. I am certain I must have been bumped against the black metal side
rails that separate each seat.
Now
more greenery is visible compared to what I have seen earlier. I don't know what this crop is, but it appears
to be some sort of bamboo or sugarcane, yet it seems there is little irrigation
for these plants. Clearly the poverty of
these small villages resembles Mexico. It is depressing to witness the lack of
hygienic measures used.
The
back to this car is open, and when the train paused for a moment the dust
wafted in. I could smell the agedness of
the places I'm about to enter. The
weather now is a dry heat -- about 80E
-- with the dust giving an appearance to the environment as though there could
be smog here. The small paved road that
parallels the tracks glistens as though it has been watered or oiled. I am relieved to note the lack of insects
thus far.
Still
on the train, but to travel about five hundred miles for about twelve dollars
is a real bargain. The conductor was
checking for tickets, so he woke me up out of sound sleep shortly after we
started. Startled, I flailed my arms a
bit protectively, but he stood back a proper distance. No harm done.
We
haven't arrived, but we should be there soon.
It's after noon
and I'm following this on a map, but since signs are posted only in Arabic at
all but the largest train stops, I'm not certain where we are now. For about a half hour I stood midway between
the two rail cars and enjoyed the warm desert air with the door open.
Expenses I must pay soon:
Two nights
in Aswan
One night in
Luxor
Airfare
(Round trip
to Abu Simbel) 132
Guide Luxor
Guided Aswan
Pick up
& Transfers 100
Aswan
I
spent my first evening in Aswan
-- took a Nile
boat trip out to the Nubian village of Elephantine. This village island is in the middle of the Nile. Then visited the bazaar here. I bought several items, including a knife, an
outfit, and a headscarf. Why I bought a
weird musical instrument I'm not certain, but I think it was because a young
boy played it so charmingly. I am sorry
I didn't bring the pens with me. I'm
handing out baksheesh to many, especially the child beggars. No American or English TV, only Arabic and
occasionally German.
For
some baksheesh a baker took me in the back to see them bake bread. He gave me a round sweet smelling disk hot
out of the clay and brick oven. It was
delicious. One shopkeeper told me to
wear old or ripped clothes, then no one would be constantly trying to pull me
in their shop . . . and they are! He also told me Aswanian people really love
Americans. It seemed true: I was treated with great respect by
most. I finished walking about midnight,
but not before the shopkeeper reminded me to not talk to Nubian men. He said they "have bad eyes," and I
should avoid any conversation or befriending them to prevent dire consequences. As I walked down the streets, I noticed many
foreigners out late, too, traversing the electrical bazaar, smaller but more
lively than Cairo.
My
room overlooks the Nile and the view, while limited by other tall buildings on
both sides, still allows me to see a mile or two up the River since I'm in Room
607 (6th Floor).
Just
before retiring for the night I washed some clothes and hung them up to
dry. It is very warm, maybe 78E, at one a.m. I must meet the plane for Abu Simbel today at nine a.m. Even though I'm not too tired, I'll
sleep. When I urinated, it had a very
sweet perfumed smell -- weird? What the
hell did I eat for that to happen?
March 1, 1993 Monday
Aswan
No
phones are here to call Mark for his birthday.
The only way is to go to the post office, which is closed for
Ramadan. The day after tomorrow I'll be
in Cairo,
and I'll be able to call easily.
This
morning I started out at 4:20 a.m. I watched this town wake up while eating
breakfast here in the hotel. I was
cautious about the street vendors and small cafes and the food they
served. I drank some Turkish coffee in
a cafe about a mile away from the hotel toward the end of the bazaar. The strong
coffee stirred my hunger. My stomach
grumbled for food.
I
washed my clothes last night, and even though the night was warm, several
articles didn't dry by the time I checked on them. I walked until eight a.m., when I was to meet
Sageed, my guide. Golden Tours in Cairo helped prearrange
some of the hotels and guides thus far.
I must thank them because everything is happening as planned.
While
I had difficulty to find Sageed this morning, he found me at 8:30 a.m. in front of the
hotel. Breakfast fare included a
carefully measured cup of plain yogurt, which was not chilled or even recently
refrigerated. I added strawberry jam to
it, and it was fine. I also had a great
couple of oranges, a sugar wafer cookie, Arabic Bread And Butter. To drink I had a simple European style
tea. I am staying away from that
hibiscus tea for a while.
Sageed
came in a taxi with me to the airport, about 15 miles out of Aswan. He left after relating some simple
directions. When I arrived at the
airport, I noticed it was almost completely filled with other non-Arabic
people. I wonder if the local residents
have seen Abu Simbel?
The French, Germans, and Italians crowded in, all pushing to be first on
the small plane. I did not notice any
other Americans on this flight.
Because
my guide was late in picking me up on time, I was the last passenger to board
this plane at 9:30 a.m. We arrived in a short thirty minutes later
by Egypt Air at Abu Simbel. I wandered into a small group of five
Englishmen. I sat next to John
Crosswaite, a retired Insurance Safety Engineer. He and his wife, Mary, have traveled a bit
throughout the world. We exchanged some
travel stories during the flight.
When
we arrived at Abu Simbel,
we immediately boarded a bus. Eight
Egyptian pounds were the cost to have an English-speaking guided tour. We entered Abu Simbel after an introduction
that included a quiz. Our guide would
insist that we answered his questions, like our interpretation of
hieroglyphs. Tough stuff,
and I'll admit most of us were repelled by being put on the spot. Other than that, the journey was well worth
the total cost of one hundred, thirty dollars.
The weather was very warm, maybe 85E
F. and dry.
I
asked the guide about the pyramid and monument building as to why, in the stories of its manufacture Nubian slaves are
mentioned, but not Jews. He said that it
is just a myth, and Jews were not used as slaves or in the construction except
for their knowledge of building. This
fact is in contrast with what I had previously believed as true. The Egyptians
were very cognizant of race and recorded much of the construction of the
pyramid on the interior walls. How many
of what race or sub-race was clearly defined within the pictographs I saw. I will look more closely at the Burial
chambers in Aswan
and Luxor
now.
The Kings and pharaohs had conquered many
places, so he brought slaves back from all places, so the Jews worked on them,
but they were only one of many groups. They were often used as architects and
masons. Few were used as haulers.
After
about three hours, we returned on the same plane. I went right to my room after being greeted
by a driver who brought me to my hotel.
He told me that I should notice that Nubians are different from
"real" Egyptians. “They are
lazy and will only work until they have some money, and then they'll wait to
work until they run out of money.” The
observations he related are similar to stereotypical casting in the U.S.
Once
in the hotel I immediately showered because of the heavy sweating I was
experiencing. After showering, I sat
recollecting my thoughts of what I had just experienced. That three thousand plus years ago these
things were created -- rather awestruck by the aura of it. I hope my photos do it justice.
I
walked through town, enjoying the freshly baked, still hot, Egyptian bread and
eating oranges that are so fragrant and juicy.
Often I heard a local yell out to me "Allo Amerika" . . . only
pleasant thoughts and nice things to say about America. At times I wondered if I was being too
simple, maybe there was some cynical feeling hidden behind the words that I was
missing.
I
bought more trinkets and tee shirts.
Some small items, I bought only for the pleasure the sale brought to the
merchant, often the seller was as young as seven years old. The only purchases of mine that were of any
consequence were forty Egyptian pounds for two tee shirts, twenty-five pounds
for a necklace, and sixty pounds for a leather bag. Because of Ramadan, women are not allowed
out of the house, so I saw very few women on the street or conducting any
business indoors.
I
went alone into a cafe to eat falafel for dinner. I hope I don't suffer consequences for
having enjoyed it. The cafe appeared to
be inhabited by locals only. I am
negating important rules of diet by this act.
March 2, 1993
Tuesday Aswan, Upper Egypt
I'm
eating breakfast in a small cafe. Coffee and bread before seven a.m. While eating, as it approaches seven a.m.,
the heavy perfumed smell of incense fills the air to remind all of
Ramadan. I have not shaven since I left Cairo. I think I look like Arafat -- maybe I should
wear the headgear to make me resemble an Arab.
An
observation of noses -- first, I think when the people look at my nose (to
compare to their nose), I have a cute button
nose. Hey, some really big noses here on
these people.
The
orange juice is some sort of concoction with rosewater. I couldn't finish it. I have finished the meal, and the restaurant
will close soon until it reopens at seven p.m. Most are closed for the season.
I'm
supposed to meet Sageed at 8:30 a.m. here, so while I'm waiting I'll pick out
those things I want to see from my notes I scribbled last night: Aswan Museum; obelisk; Rock Tombs; Ptolemaic
Old Temple; Elephantine Island; Mileometer; Temple of Khnum; Kalabsha; Ombo (25
miles away); Philae. I had a retired
Doctor of Egyptology, Dr. Mohammed, take me around
personally, a real honor he claimed. He
was terribly slow, but extremely rugged and durable for his age of
eighty-three. Several items required the
use of water travel. The island of Philae was
extraordinarily beautiful and unfortunately heavily laden with European
tourists.
The
time is 2:30 p.m. I will leave for the railroad station in an
hour to go to Luxor. A TV commercial I witnessed last night for a
brand of laundry soap for clothing was “Persil.” They showed two women on the typical Egyptian
style of open-roofed home, with a fence of rebar pointing skyward. The women were washing the long white robes
in a large outdoor basin. While I'll
admit I didn't understand a word they said, the inflection and actions were so
similar and yet so dissimilar to a commercial I might see on L. A. TV. As the final scene evolved, one woman was
telling the other how wonderfully clean everything was coming out now as she
was hanging the clothing on a line strung between two homes. The words and the feeling were like any ad
I’d see in L.A.,
but the images were very strange to me.
The long robes and the unfinished rooftops added to the exotic panorama.
.
At
eight thirty a.m. I was met here at the hotel, then we went to the Aswan Dam, even though I told Dr.
Mohammed that it’s of little interest to me.
Obviously he was proud that this dam is in his city. The driver and the guide, Dr. Mohammed, stood
in awe of the spectacular structure. I was not impressed. I had not traveled to Aswan to see the modern
dam, but to explore history. Then we saw
the unfinished obelisk. I was educated
how they wetted sycamore wedges at night to force the obelisk free from the
stone. As the rock heated during the
day, the wedge expanded and broke deeper through the crevice. The next day the wedge would be hammered
deeper until the slab of rock was cut free from the hillside.
The
air temperature was in the nineties and the conditions the Moslem faithful must
follow during Ramadan made this a difficult trip for the old doctor. He walks with a heavy carved wooden cane. Because I took many pictures, especially at Philae, I had to catch up to
him often. He was very happy that I
appreciated his knowledge of this. He
let me know he didn't like me traveling so slowly. He had a permanent scowl on his
aged, leathery face.
I
hired a private boat to take my guide and me to Philae since that's the only
way it can be reached. Immediately I
could see I'll be shooting a lot of pictures here. The pharaohs visited the small island. Coptics, an ancient Christian religion, had
conquered this site. It was reconquered
by the Egyptian Moslems, but not before the Copts defaced quite a number of the
images of deities.
Napoleon
was there at the end of the eighteenth century and found the Rosetta stone,
more recently explored and plundered by the English. Each group had left its mark on the
structures and somehow left definite evidence of their presence here on this
small, but beautiful island.
Aswan was a geographic
point at which it became difficult to navigate further south toward the river
source. Consequently, many traders
started their land journey from this point traveling south toward Sudan. The trip was not an easy one.
I
decided to take one last trip through the marketplace. I bought more bread as it was pulled, hot,
from the oven. The bottled water I drank
was cool enough. I was extremely thirsty
because I did not drink in the presence of my guide or driver. I drank half of the liter before exiting the
store. I was feeling dizzy from the
heat. I walked through the marketplace,
which was busy selling food and drink in preparation for the daily cessation of
Ramadan. I passed the section of the marketplace where fish was sold by many
vendors. Carp seemed to be the most
prevalent, but other smaller species were available, too.
The
fish was usually left in the hot sun, covered with flies. Another fish merchant had his wares dampened
by the untreated sewage, which had backed up in the street, and it was pooling
around his fish. As the putrid brown
water receded, his assistant merely wiped the top fish in the display and
continued to sell them without another care.
To add to this malodorous situation the sewers had overflowed, causing a
stench that will be embedded in my mind forever. I had to cross this river of filth -- even as
I write these words, my nose can well recollect the vile, gagging smell.
I
was anxious to get back to the hotel, where I am now taking a much-needed rest
and cooling my feet. Even though it is
not yet night I appreciate the darkened room.
While waiting for the train, I met Yossif, the guide I hired from Isis
Hotel in the city of Aswan. He served well as my coordinator. He brought me to the train, and then he
purchased a ticket for my first class passage to Luxor. He helped me find the right car and carried
my bag aboard.
On
the train I met Kaspar and Sheila. He's
from Great Britain;
she's from Montreal. They are traveling around the world
together. This is the first stop of a
long two-year trip for them.
When
I arrived in Luxor,
I hired a young local man, Nasser, to be my guide. He seems to be nervous, yet sincere about
showing me all that I had on my list.
I’d see everything, and then some.
I arrived at about 12:15 p.m., which was twenty
minutes later than scheduled. The trip
was very comfortable because I was able to turn the seat in front of me around
to make a long “bed.” Nasser brought me to the
hotel. Tired and sunburned, I walked to
my room with a porter to carry my bag.
The room was pleasantly cool but the view was the side of an old building
with chipped pale yellow paint over plaster.
I washed my clothes then sat writing out some postcards. Instead, I fell asleep until 5:15 p.m.
and slept for four hours. Plus I had
dozed often during the six-hour train ride from Aswan so I’m really well rested
now.
March 3, 1993 Tuesday Luxor
The
Nile boat leaving Luxor to cross to the Valley of the Kings and the Valley
of the Queens, has pulled away from the dock. There are many tourist boats here, but the
tourist trade is really down and the local economy depends heavily on the
infusion of the foreign money. The local
unemployment must have been high. There
were often ragtag groups of Arabs lingering around tourist spots
especially. It looked like some sort of
social gathering, but I imagine they discussed job prospects or they could have
been part of the political unrest.
I
only had dollars in my pocket at the moment, so my guide, Nasser, spent five
pounds for water and cigarettes for me, then he lent me forty pounds for film
and baksheesh as the need would arise; It always arose
often, for the tourist economy was based heavily on tipping. I settled with him later. He preferred dollars to Egyptian pounds and
it made little difference to me.
The
ferry cruised slowly into the bay.
Already at 10 in the morning it is about 80E F. Today will be very hot and it is
frequently difficult to find shelter from the sun when I am on foot. Most of
the pale tourists are wearing hats, but I didn’t bring one, nor do I intend to
buy one. Americans are known by their
red faces and I intend to continue the tradition. I’m certain to go home with a deep tan . . .
or sunstroke.
Nasser brought me to a group
for English people to make this brief cruise.
After disembarking the boat, like sheep, we board one of the waiting
large tour buses waiting for us on the banks.
I realize the value of traveling alone.
I've temporarily lost control and am at the mercy of the tour leaders,
lost within the flock. All of the other
passengers seem to be used to this treatment.
I imagine that their “tour” of Egypt
has been like this for the brief period they intend to remain here in Luxor. To be shuttled here and there is not my cup
of tea. The very pale white, almost translucent color of the legs of all
tourists in this group means they haven’t been in the bright sunlight very
much. After speaking with one of the
participants, he explained that this is all one group from England
on a seven-day tour of Egypt’s
upper area, around Luxor
and then back to Great Britain.
On
the bus to the complex of temples and tombs, I examined my camera and counted the remaining
exposures I have left. Only forty pictures left before all film I brought to
this region is gone. Dust swirls through
the open windows of the bus and fills the air.
I feel a sudden urge to sneeze.
The bus halted less than fifty feet from the Arabesque Hotel, where I
stayed the first night. The Egyptian
rating system for hotels accepts much lower standards than those in the U.S.
Arabesque
is rated three-star, but by US standards it was a small step above the
YMCA. My best comfort here is I have a
private room. The second night I will be
transferring to Luxor Wene Hotel which has attained a rating of five
stars. The hot sun burns down hard. It is difficult to remain outside for much
longer than an hour.
After
taking off in the bus, we visited a number of tombs at the Valley of the Kings and Valley of
the Queens,
but smaller tombs of lesser-known pharaohs predominate
our tour. If one is willing to part with
an extra ten Egyptian pounds, passage is opened to the tomb of King Tutankhamen. Almost every article
has been removed from Tut’s entombment, so it is among the less spectacular
sites.
Our
guide was good. He provided thorough
explanations of most everything as he brought me with about twenty Brits
through the Valley of the Kings
and the Valley of the Queens. We were so active I had no time to take
notes. So many books have been written
about this region, I imagine I don’t really need to add any. We were not allowed to take photographs, but
the outer terraces were littered with locals attempting to sell as many
postcards as possible. They took
advantage of the unsuspecting, who unfortunately took a slight glance at one
vendor’s goods. The merchant started
with a high price of five pounds but, if he saw the interest of the tourist
wane he would lower the price, ultimately willing to sell at one pound.
Our
guide did supplement his fee by taking us to two places to buy more stuff. The guides are paid in various ways to
deliver living bodies who might buy something.
First, we were delivered to a shop where they make alabaster jugs. While the tourists browsed through the shop,
I wandered out of the store with some difficulty. Since the tour guide wanted as many souls to
remain and possibly purchase something, he stood gently in front of the door
pretending not to notice my efforts to escape.
I had to fake him to the right.
The shopkeeper’s home was behind and above the business area. The best way I could document a visit into
the home of the shopkeeper was with a few photographs.
If
the shopkeeper truly resides here, it is simple and Spartan conditions. While the family of six did have electricity,
lights, and a TV, they didn't have plumbing or refrigeration of any kind. The clay brick construction was very cool
within the interior and ventilated in such a way as to take advantage of normal
desert conditions. I found it to be comfortable.
After
what appeared to be hundreds of dollars of merchandise was sold and wrapped
carefully in brown paper and tied with a thick soft twine, we were loaded back
on the bus and told we would continue the journey to the Valley of Queens about
ten miles away.
The
guide remarked that normally there would be thirty or more buses, but today
there were only three. The recent
terrorist activity by the Shiite Muslims has curtailed much travel into these
fascinating lands. Almost all of the
members of my group trudged through the almost unbearable heat and dust. Only the most aged, or unfit people stayed
behind in the shelter of the air conditioned bus. Those who didn't go missed some fantastic
sights. The tombs often had narrow
passageways which were roughed out to allow larger erect bodies to journey into
the neon lit interior chambers.
The
walls were painted with hieroglyphics to tell stories about the life and deeds of the primary
inhabitant of this entombment. The
artists used all primary and secondary colors vividly. Because of the protection offered in the
almost eternal desert underground darkness, the colors have not faded and only
rarely had any part of the murals chipped or peeled away from the wall. The neon light brought the colors to life.
With just brief explanation of some of the
symbols used, I was able to comprehend the meaning of several sections of the
drawings. While most of the tombs were
grouped together by the craftsmen that built them, each one had a separate
entrance and never opened out to another tomb.
As
I had expected, the Valley of the Kings
was much grander than the female counterpart, Valley of the Queens. All tombs had been broken into and almost all
items had been purloined many years ago.
This is why the tomb of Tutankhamen was such a great find. The grave robbers had missed this tomb and
when it was discovered everything was still intact inside. This helped Egyptologists understand, more
completely, what the lives of the pharaohs was like
and at what level the craftsmen of that period had attained.
Next
we went to a papyrus factory. Again, I
felt as though I was cargo. I went along
to see what was said. My alternative was
to sit on the air-conditioned bus with a rapidly growing group of disenchanted
that numbered now at least a score of people who, like me, chose not to
go. On every street corner and
practically every shop have sheets of papyrus, body oil, or alabaster jugs for
sale. All claiming that their product
is the properly produced item and not
made from banana leaves, like the other cheap ones.
Most
of the Brits fell prey to one or another method used
to separate the tourist from his money.
Most of them were here on a sedentary, vacation of relaxation and stayed
for their one week in Luxor
within the safety of their homogenous group wherever they went. So it was Valley of the Queens next. I was harassed by a street vendor, who
surreptitiously showed me a small blue and black rusted icon, which he insisted
he had stolen from one of the Queen's tombs.
On two counts I elected to not even consider its purchase. It's highly illegal and would be enough cause
to be expelled or jailed. Secondly, it
more clearly had a strong resemblance to items I have seen from India
or Indochina. Its marking seemed to be Chinese characters
not something resembling, even remotely, the figures drawn on the walls and
understood to be hieroglyphics. My
suspicion was reinforced when I resisted his insistence I buy it, the price
dropped from 150 English pounds to 10 Egyptian pounds before I
got on the bus. Still,
no sale.
We
went back to the boat by bus. I decided
to take a felucca which is a boat made of reeds. It holds four, but two of those were the boat
owner and his assistant. It moved much
slower than the passenger ferry that took me to this side of the Nile.
The river was about half a kilometer wide at this point, but I enjoyed
the rugged passage and could feel the inherent danger with using this mode of
transportation. I chose to walk the
one-mile to the Hotel Luxor, where I was told my things would be carefully
moved to another room with a better view.
A bag was missing, but it arrived shortly by way of a running errand
boy.
The
walk to the hotel was very interesting because so many of the people here are
(like in Aswan)
fluent in many other languages. I was
given directions by one of the shopkeepers.
He had misguided me away from my destination, not intentionally
(possibly), but only because he did not know the right answer and felt it would
be considered rude to not respond to my question.
I
met an Egyptian woman who was determined to speak with me about how America
feels about Egypt. As I see it, the press has played up a few
bad incidents to the public in order to sell newspapers. Western Europe
and the U.S.
generally portray the Arabs in one untrustworthy lot. The Arabs I met, coupled with my brief
education in laws of the Quran, which most Arabs follow literally, make me
think quite differently.
As
I understand it, you need not respect your promise to an infidel or to someone who
has broken his word to you. This is the
basis for distrust of Arabs. I have not
been able to confirm the truth of this statement with all Arabs. Apparently it is interpreted differently by
different factions or groups. Some say
“yes,” others respond “no.”
Here,
too, like Aswan,
the people are extremely helpful and truly want friendship with Americans. She said Egypt
loved Bush and especially Carter. It's
too soon to evaluate Clinton,
but they all seem to have a rudimentary knowledge of American government.
At
the hotel, Nasser
said it was too late to visit other important monuments, including Dendra and Karnak today. I was scheduled to leave Luxor tomorrow night for Cairo, so I added another
day and changed my schedule to have time for this. Nasser, a thin very black man in his late
twenties had piercing black eyes that made me a bit nervous at our first
meeting. Later I realized they reflected
an intensity of life not common here.
He had been in Luxor
for six years after spending four years traveling through Upper Egypt Nubian
areas earning a living by trading goods.
Ultimately he married and decided he should stay in one place. Nasser
took me around town.
We ate at a small shop at six o'clock
sharp because Ramadan ends earlier now.
I was served falafel in pita bread with olives and a sort of sour cream
cheese, more like liquefied feta.
Normally available is "salat,” which is pickled tomato and other
vegetables to go into it. The black
flies are everywhere;
all over the food, on me, just everywhere. If it were not for the flies, I would have
enjoyed the food more, but I was constantly swatting at them, even though I was
trying to ignore them. It was very tasty
and other patrons were mystified by the novelty of seeing an American eating
there.
Sanitary conditions, as I am used to having,
were lacking here. There were two oil drums filled with water. One to clean your hands
and rinse the dirt off, however no soap was provided. The other drum was used for drinking water in
which I had to dip a metal cup to pour myself a drink. Napkins or eating utensils were not
used.
The
hot fresh pita bread was placed directly on the ragged, green and white
checked, plastic tablecloth that covered the wooden table. We sat in rickety wooden chairs that had been
deeply parched by the heat of the Sun.
The thick,
green half-dollar sized cakes of fried garbanzo beans were served on a separate
plate. The oil used to fry them was old,
but it didn’t affect the taste badly. I
liked the vegetarian sandwiches. It is
customary to pick a section of the block of soft white cheese with your hand to
put it into the bread pocket. Then I ate
this with what appeared to be refried fava beans covered in a thin brown
sauce. It was cooked until the mixture
is a lumpy black and brown paste with swirls of steam flying above the huge
pot. The mixture is scooped onto each
plate as a condiment.
Three
Egyptian pounds were paid for both meals.
No tip was to be offered according to Nasser. We went over to smoke tobacco from the water
pipe. Ten pipes or more were placed all
around this open room. I had sweet red hibiscus tea with a small dollop of
sugar. Even the sugar was different
because it was sprinkled with a spice to keep flies away.
The
waterpipe was filled and lit for us.
The tobacco leaves glowed brightly as we shared a smoke. After a leisurely smoke with Nasser I bought a couple of
tee shirts. I needed to change U.S.
dollars, but the first money changer I encountered wouldn't take my money because
he said it didn't look real. I had given
him a regular one hundred dollar bill.
As
I walked through town, I noticed no prices are posted at any shop. Everything must be bargained for,
everything. The tourists from Western Europe (which represents about
ninety-five per cent of all foreign tourists I've seen) have been advised to avoid the local
tap water and only drink bottled mineral water.
I noticed that the expiration date printed on water bottle labels of the water sold
in local shops has long since passed.
As I walked through the bazaar, I noticed a young Western European
couple eating in a small corner restaurant sitting at the table and drinking
water from a bottle very safely.
Exposed to all who stood on the street, behind a ragged curtain,
concealed from the drinking tourists, was a man
blatantly pouring water from a large tub, by way of a tin cup and funnel into
the plastic water bottles to refill them.
The exact same type of bottle like the couple was drinking from.
March 4, 1993 Wednesday Luxor, Egypt
As
I eat the restaurant's version of a continental breakfast, I hear similarities
between the Egyptian music and the music I heard in India. The breakfast was okay, but that is not
enough to justify the extra money it costs to stay here, but the view is much
more impressive. The room and the hotel lobby are fancier and
the service better, but all of these things still don’t make this a better
choice for my money.
Today,
while reading the local English newspaper, I read about some terrorist
shootings in Cairo. The Shiites killed several foreigners in a nearby restaurant
during Ramadan. Amazingly, I've
noticed no mention on either government run TV station. My gout is starting to bother me in my right
foot, probably because I haven't been eating very well. I've really stuck to a basic diet
generally. It has been difficult to find
good Egyptian cuisine that is healthy.
I
awoke at four a.m.
and watched the city slowly wake up. The
sun had already begun to cast long dark shadows across the city. I remember hearing what seemed to be the
familiar sound of water rushing through the pipes from the Playa del Rey condo
above mine; in fact, it was a horse drawn carriage bringing sugar cane to the
market. It was eerie to realize how
similar the sound was yet how different the sources.
In a few minutes I was
dressed and out to the very plain Continental breakfast served in the
hotel. I was to meet Mr. Nasser at 8:30 a.m.
so I walked only a short time. I went to
Dendra with a driver called Mohammed.
The driver was hired by Nasser
to chauffeur me for the day. We drove
about forty miles through an area principalled by many small farm communities
dotting both sides of this Nile
tributary. The dam at Aswan has prevented the
annual flooding that the farmers anticipated only a few years ago.
The farmers have replaced
mud and straw dams over which is balanced a long sturdy branch with a pail
attached firmly to one end. This fulcrum
is used to scoop water from the Nile,
lift it, bucket by bucket, over the earthen dam, to irrigate their parcel of
land. As I traveled closer toward the
urbanized areas along the Nile,
I more frequently saw farmers irrigating their land with an electric sump
pump. I was told that many use a
horse-powered water wheel, but I saw very few of them in use. Most of these were in varying states of
disrepair.
The
farmers and their families lived in mud brick, or even simpler mud plastered
homes. Most homes had sugar cane
thatching but periodically I noticed a small outcropping of one or two story
modern buildings. This sight destroyed a
vision that somehow I was transported back in time. If the modern buildings had not existed, it
would be easy to believe that today was two hundred years ago. I tried to document it well with the camera,
because the detail is too much for my mind to retain accurately.
At
Dendra, each new
monument is thrilling to look at.
Each one of the many was, itself, a gargantuan
monolith. The splendid "spare no
cost or efforts" work by the pharaohs' subjects was damaged by the
Coptics, who were the first wave of Christianity to sweep Egypt
demolishing or defacing all ancient deities.
The Copts justified the massive waves of destruction as an attempt to
rid the country of the blaspheming idols.
Later still came the Moslems to continue the
destruction, but most of the necessary defilement had been done.
I
ran out of film and there was no place nearby to purchase a roll. It
was well worth the 135LE I spent for this trip alone. The driver had stopped for water and oranges
earlier, so I wasn’t hungry.
We
then returned to the hotel after I got some more money changed. Next time I would like to stay in the Winter Palace. It would be about one hundred fifty dollars a
night but it really looked nice. I
noticed many attractive women warming themselves in the hot sun around the
large pool.
Mr.
Nasser met me at three p.m.
and brought Dr. Mohammed with him. The
old doctor was to take me through Karnak,
which was the largest court, built in the early period of Egypt. It is about one kilometer from Luxor, which is also
splendid, but the glitz is starting to wear off. There is only so much of this stuff you can
see before you start thinking "OK, here's another one." I am amazed that I am not in total awe at
each of these erections. I decided to
walk on my own through this. Many older
Europeans are around me, especially English and French tourists.
I
walked back to the hotel after giving some baksheesh to Dr. Mohammed, who,
again, served as my guide, but he seemed rather distant while I asked
questions. He was more intent on
bringing me to a gift shop. Nonetheless
he is a very knowledgeable fellow; none of his information conflicted with the
books on Egypt
that I brought with me.
Mr.
Nasser had arranged my bus trip. I am
writing this in retrospect, but I'll never take a bus again. The people were certainly pleasant, but I was
crowded into a small seat while some sort of round metal protrusion caused a
painful bruise on my knee. There was not
enough room for me to bend down to retrieve my bottle of water without turning
my head sideways and contorting my body like a discus thrower by stretching my
arm to its maximum. All of this frequent
activity on the cramped hot bus usually caused my face to redden in the
effort. Because I looked so out of
place, a pretty young Egyptian girl looked -- no! stared
-- at me, as though I was a monkey in the zoo.
All
in all, the overnight trip was very unpleasant.
The bus played movies, very bad movies, which I had not an inkling of an
idea what was happening but thankful when each drama ended. Each time I
anticipated a wondrous moment of silence, the driver put in a cassette tape and
played the acrimonious music loud enough to have the small speakers (one of which was located
twelve inches from my face) rasp tinny tunes to bring me to the brink of
insanity.
March 5, 1993 Thursday Cairo
Now
I am back in the Sherazdeh Hotel, in Cairo, where my goods were
safely stashed. Washing clothes,
shaving, other important stuff like that and writing
out postcards to mail must be done.
First I intend to thank Ashraf for his assistance in planning part of
the trip.
I
walked through the bazaar again today. I
was not feeling right. After seeing the
amazing crowds of people, incredible swarms of them pushing and shoving made me
dizzier. Everybody was trying to squeeze
through the bloody meat market. All parts of many different animals were for
sale. I watched as a young female
butcher took a live, fat pigeon and filet it for a waiting patron. She took it and deftly removed its head with
a quick twist. Hanging huge quarters of
beef dripped blood onto the sidewalk, people, impervious to the masses of flies
tasting the dead flesh, walked through the narrow lanes of the
marketplace. Women gathered around the
cloth vendors, who were loudly hawking the material from bolts, and they freely
flashed examples of the finished goods from the large wooden slat-walled
platform at the rear of the trucks.
I
called to arrange a bus or train trip through the Sinai, so I'll be able to
scuba in the Red Sea,
supposedly the best in the world. Then
go through Jordan
into Israel. No trains make this trip, but a bus would do
it okay. I’m not happy about the
prospect of bus travel, but I must be adaptive and make a sacrifice of comfort
if I really want to go there.
I
am still up at two a.m.
because I had a long nap during the day.
I tried to find a good restaurant but instead I went to the Casino for a
few minutes. The restaurant, Felfela,
was closed even though I asked the hotel clerk.
He assured me it would be open.
The better part of my nutrition has come in the form of falafel and I have
found the ingredients fresh and the restaurant clean at Felfela, my Egyptian
favorite.
Each
call to the U.S.
cost twenty-two pounds for three minutes, whether I contact the other party or
not. The exchange rate is posted as 3.33LE = $1
US. When I spoke with Mom, she said
everybody was worried because I hadn't called recently and the news of
terrorist activity plaguing Egypt
was big news in L.A. I couldn't get a call through from Aswan, Luxor, and Abu Simbel was too small to even
think of it. Mom said there was a
bombing at the Cairo Nile Hilton. I
asked the Hotel Manager, and it was apparent that he didn't want to talk about
it. He said, "You know, everywhere
there are problems." But more
details he wouldn't divulge. I took a
taxi for five pounds to get there and back from my hotel. There did not appear to be any problem now,
but one patron, British, said he'd heard there was a problem last week at a
restaurant. The hotel lost all power
while I sat in the lobby a moment ago.
During my fumbling search, in the dark, for my small flashlight that I
always keep with me, I lost my pen.
During
my trip in the bazaar, I realized what good deals I got on the camel skin
briefcase for ninety pounds and a bag for forty. Both were purchased in Aswan. I am totally amazed by lack of use of auto
headlights at night. It seems use is
optional all over Egypt. It can turn a frightening trip into a real
white-knuckler. No regard for stoplights
or street signs by impervious drivers.
With no headlights on, its amazing there isn't a pile of cars every two
blocks. I've witnessed very few
accidents, but pedestrians head out into whizzing traffic with the aplomb of a
Spanish matador avoiding speeding cars with such grace. I saw a cyclist carrying about fifty loaves
of uncovered bread get knocked down by a car.
The bicyclist picked up all the loaves and put all the bread back in the
baskets after exchanging angry words with the driver. No loaves were lost, albeit some loaves were
flatter or stained with street scum.
MARCH 6, 1993 Saturday Cairo
I
have just returned from spending one hundred pounds to have a driver take me an
hour out of Cairo to Memphis and
Saqqarah. Something happened to my
camera, I'm not certain what since it was not struck or dropped. Nonetheless the shutter isn’t moving, as it
must to properly expose the film. I must
find a camera shop to have it repaired.
I hope I didn't lose photos because this site is extremely photogenic
and historic. Saqqarah is believed to
be the old know pyramid. There are many
tombs around here. The most abundant are
those of political importance buried in deeply trenched tunnels most of which
have several chambers for loved ones who were interred with them.
The
pyramid itself is crumbling and closed to the public. I think if I found the right guard that he’d
let me make close inspection for baksheesh.
Other “guards” have tried to taunt me into looking at several, supposedly,
off-limits tombs . . . for baksheesh.
As
I walk along the dusty trails throughout this burial ground, there are shards
of pottery and bone at my feet. Anyone
could scoop up a handful if they had any desire to do so.
Saqqarah
was especially of interest. Since one
guide passed me to the next, working me for all that I was worth. It was worthwhile, but they would bring me to
a point then say the tour is over after baksheesh changes hands. So did mine now pulled by a new "sheif,"
meaning Bedouin chief. Frankly, these
guys looked more like a short order chef than a "sheif" or chief.
March 7, 1993 Sunday Cairo, Egypt
I
awoke at seven in the morning, but I had to wait for my tickets to Aqaba, Jordan
until 10:30. I checked out of the hotel and delivered the
expected, but appreciated, baksheesh to all of those who most deserved it. I stowed my bags until tonight when I will
meet Ashraf. He will drive me to the bus
station to help me get a ticket and board the right bus.
It's
four p.m. now, and my guide
(actually he's just a driver) awaits outside the restaurant. He has informed me that Ashraf has instructed
him to bring me here. These are my last
moments in Cairo. Tonight I leave on the bus, I know I wrote
"never again," regarding a bus ride, but is
the only way to get out from here if I want to travel to Jordan.
I
decided to travel to the bus station to see if I could get an earlier bus
direct to Nueva, Egypt,
the port to Aqaba in Jordan. Politics have determined that I must travel
this way. A sliver of Israel
extends down to the Red Sea
and is sandwiched between Egypt
and Jordan. Israel’s
resort city of Elat
sits perilously at the southernmost port.
If I drove into Israel,
Jordan
would not allow me to enter, so I had to take the ferry to go around this
thirty-mile stretch of Israeli beach. I
arrived at 3:30 a.m.
after a dangerous journey through the moonlit Sinai desert, with rough roads
almost all the way. Many calamities
occurred while aboard which I'll account for soon. All events aboard the bus only added
discomfort to misery. Since it is now
after midnight
I will put the continued entry under the new day and date to follow.
March 8, 1993 Monday Cairo to Aqaba, Jordan
The
trip to Jordan
had exceeded all expected obstacles. The
people I have met continued in the kind and friendly pattern I have experienced
in Egypt. Since yesterday at six a.m. sleep for me has been
rare. The bus left the station at
approximately 9:30 p.m.
for Nueva, Egypt. Two quick stops for more passengers, three
big bumps, one huge backfire then the bus, forty Arabs and I were on our way
across the Sinai desert. For this trip
I paid forty pounds, and I was driven in a bus that was equipped with a video
player and Arabic tapes. It also had a
volume control that was permanently stuck on loud. The cacophonic music was played so loudly
that you could notice
the speed variations in the tapes. The
good fortune I had in finding this bus is yet to be told. It had a toilet, a rarity in Egyptian
buses. Unfortunately for me it lacked a
light or a lock. While that didn't
diminish its rustic charm, the dank malodorous newspaper flooring in the toilet
room did adversely affect my ability to relieve myself in such environs. Halfway through the nine-hour journey I felt
that I must make an attempt to use the toilet.
Holding
the door slightly ajar, I began what I set out to do. As the bus lurched and leaped, I found myself
unable to continue with any accuracy and had new appreciation for the necessity
of a newspaper floor covering. In fact,
every several moments I would make a brief appearance to the other riders as I
clung to the swinging door. Everyone
pretended not to notice.
At
3:30 a.m. we arrived at Nueva
hoping to board the ferry immediately.
No such luck. All passengers
hopeful to board the twice-daily ferry were crowded into huge lines that
twisted and turned like the streets of Cairo. The first notice I had of a gathering line
came as everyone, including a brace of crying children standing too close for
me to ignore, began to run in random directions.
I
swept up my luggage and continued to gain a secure spot in the cue as soon as
its shape became apparent to me. I
noticed a disheartening similarity between the manner in which people pushed,
shoved, cajoled their singular place in line and the
cars in Cairo
traffic. As a stranger in this land, I
was not so adroit at maneuvering. I did
get into the line successfully, however the line changed from resembling a
snake to a giant squid in its final death throws. The line had an evil, wicked heart. The people pushed and pressed with a growing
fervor as the line began to move forward, with everyone eager to pass through
the gated portals of the ferry landing.
I could feel each throb, pushing me through its jowls like a voracious behemoth,
letting me land in a huge area which was enclosed. No morning light yet, but it would come
soon.
Everybody
was instructed to wait in specific areas.
I was watching as the Police Lieutenant took a supple strip of belt
leather and walked along the yellow perimeter line painted on the asphalt. The
Arabs were instructed to sit on the pavement cross-legged. Occasionally he
would stop and snap the strap as he passed an Arab offender. Once he told a
middle-aged man to move into the crowded perimeter, but because of a lack of
space, the man could not get his knee within the line. The soldier brutally snapped the strap at the
offending knee. Immediately, almost
electrically, the Arab was able to find space, where space did not exist
before, to move within the perimeter with his fresh knee welt.
The
first call was for all foreigners, extending official preferential treatment to
me as an American with others from Europe
and Asia. After several long hours the light of dawn
began. After two hours more we pushed
through another gate to leave luggage.
My new associates were squeezed into a land vessel resembling a bus
without a roof. It was a short drive
to the boat. On the bus, a woman
cried. Her child, one of five, was
missing. The driver heard her moans, but
paid no heed. The vehicle was so crowded
that it was possible the child was aboard, just not visible. I couldn’t understand what exactly had
happened or how the child was eventually returned to the mother.
There
must be a thousand people aboard the boat.
I spent my time with the Europeans. Most of the non-Arabs were young
backpacking adventurers. I struck up a
conversation with John, a young English photographer who, like me, hopes to
visit Petra, Jordan
tomorrow.
While
we were talking, I saw a little barefooted black-haired Arab girl putting my
water bottle down. John said he didn't see her pick up my bottle nor had I
noticed the innocent theft. In a few
minutes the four-year-old girl returned with her younger sister for a drink, I
gave the children the bottle of water while several members of the Arab crowd
watched intently to see my reaction.
Because
we had to surrender our passports prior to embarking, I asked the policeman
when they would return my passport. He
replied in English it would be returned after we stopped and disembarked.
When
the bus left the station in Cairo,
I remember watching the children and parents as they parted with loved ones on
this journey and the children are the same worldwide. No difference. The crying, the kissing,
the sadness. It's the same all
over. People are alike; no matter where
it is I am in the world.
Now
it is 8:30 p.m. What was to be a three-hour trip is yet to be
over. We are at a standstill; at anchor
in the water. The word is that the
captain feels the water is too rough to continue travel or return to port. I am so overly tired I can recognize the
humor in this juggernaut. I pass my
biscuits among my new traveling friends.
We all share what food we have carried with us. Fortunately I have adequate water which I
drink while I watched the Arab Moslems break fast at the end of their daily
fasting of Ramadan. They have baskets of
fragrant and pungent fruits and pastries. The aromas mix in the air, filling
every corner and crevice of the ship.
March 9, 1993 Tuesday Aqaba, Jordan
The
boat finally arrived at about 10 p.m., and I immediately
disembarked. One Jordanian shipmate
offered me invaluable advice on where to go to get the passport back and get my
luggage. I was one of the first to get
off, and I was second to get my passport approved. I had some thorough questioning by one of the
guards as to whether I intended to go to Israel. I said no.
Any other response would risk not being able to enter Jordan.
After
a long wait and a scurry for my bags too complex and perplexing to completely
explain, but I will try. I was quickly
and efficiently issued my passport, but the luggage -- now that was a story. The people pushed and shoved me with all of
the other Arabs desperately trying to retrieve their goods. Mine, being first in, were last out and not
without ripping the handle off one piece.
As
I was about to lay my hands upon it, I was violently struck back by a guard who
was trying to maintain order amidst the pandemonium by keeping most of the
people behind a line drawn on the pavement.
His blow was aimed at me, not as an American but, in the darkness of
night, I looked much like many of the passengers. He pushed me backwards, over some
suitcases. I didn't think I'd ever get
up because Arabs were scrambling over me keeping me pinned down for a minute or
two. It seemed to last much longer. I saw no opening to make my escape. When I did, make no mistake about it, I
listened much more obediently to the guards next time much to the humorous
delight of my new friends. They had the
foreknowledge to keep their goods with them and did not allow their backpacks
to be separated from them.
We
found the Jerusalem Hotel in downtown Aqaba, which charges one and a half
dinars nightly (roughly equivalent to two dollars). We traveled as a group: Toko, a Japanese girl; Jon, a British
photographer; Thomas and Silkie, two German social workers from Nuremberg. Together we rode to the Hotel at sixty miles
an hour on roads that were intermittently asphalt and dirt. A safe speed might have been fifteen MPH, but
our taxi driver had traveled this road many times and knew every obstacle in
it.
I
quickly fell asleep but awoke early because I was anxious to see this historic
town. While walking through the small
center of town I saw a car that had a California license. While staring at it, I was closely observed
by the owner, Mohammed, who left California two months ago
to return here to his home. We talked
for an hour then he invited me to meet later that night. He drove me around town showing me all of
Aqaba. We drank coffee together and
talked for long hours. In a way, he
missed California. He asked me to drive with him to Amman tomorrow, but I would
not have been able to see anything in Jordan
if I had done so. I declined his
generous offer. He brought me to his
friend's restaurant, where I had a delicious lamb stew cooked with rice, pine
nuts and raisins for one dinar. The
good conversation -- again, was my greatest pleasure.
March 10, 1993 Wednesday Aqaba, Jordan
This
morning I awoke at six a.m. I was unable to shower in the communal bath
with the Turkish toilet because it had a long line of waiting residents. I only could wash and shave within its motley
walls in a basin. I walked a few
kilometers to find how I may travel to Petra.
Buses
leave when full, regardless of time. But
since they are designed to hold only eight or ten people it shouldn't seem to
take long. I purchased some mangoes, sold
in abundance in Egypt
and Jordan,
and some heavily sugared cookies. Jordan
is more conservative with its expectation that everybody observes Ramadan and
all restaurants are closed. As I was
walking back to the hotel, a policeman whisked my cigarette out of my mouth
only uttering "Ramadan" and wagged his finger at me. I ground the cigarette out on the cracked
pavement where it lay and walked on. I
remembered the lesson I learned while traveling on the ferry from Egypt.
The
bus toward Petra
started moving, packed with Egyptian workers filling low paying jobs that
Jordanians won't take. Nonetheless the
Jordanians resent the importation of cheap labor and the Egyptians much in the
same way that Mexican laborers are looked upon in California. Because I missed the bus, I decided to spend
the day in Aqaba.
I
hired a Palestinian taxi driver who brought me to the Jordanian Royal Diving
Club where I made arrangements to dive in the afternoon. The weather was warm, about 80E.
Scuba diving through the coral reef was well worth the extra time
taken. It cost ten dinar and the dive
lasted forty minutes through some beautiful coral reefs with colorful fish.
After
the dive we went to the border of Saudi Arabia
that was only another five miles away.
The driver said there is no way to pass without a visa, but I wanted to
hear the border guard say "No."
They let me through without any problem.
They wouldn't let the taxi through, so he waited for me on the Jordanian
side of the crossing. After walking the
short distance across the border I hired a Saudi taxi so I could go to Hagl, a
small town east of the border by five kilometers. No taxi service beyond that town the driver
explained with head nods or shakes and a variety of hand signals. After twenty minutes in town I tried to
return, but I had gotten to see Hagl by way of an inquisitive private driver
who spoke some English. He also drove me
back to the border. All I saw was a tiny
fruit market, a small grocery, and about four buildings under construction. There were more buildings further in but the
driver said it wasn’t safe to go there.
That heightened my interest, but I could not coerce the driver to take
me there.
Back
at the border crossing, the guard made it quite a difficult time since he, the
Saudi guard, wanted one hundred dollars to allow me to cross again. While talking I noticed everyone who made the
crossing from Saudi Arabia
to Jordan
gave the guard something. The usual
gifts he got were cartons of American cigarettes, cash, a
new radio still in the box. I refused,
then arrangements to pay him five dollars were made
without my request for help. I
ultimately did not pay him, instead I had the official
passport stamp canceled. When I finally
returned to Jordan,
the waiting driver was amazed. He said
that it was impossible, and he had never seen this happen before. He brought me to get my swim trunks and towel
at the hotel. A few minutes later we
went to have the camel hide bag repaired for one dinar at a small leather shop
he knew outside of the town. Not a
great job, but it's fixed. I was taken
for a great fish lunch.
The
taxi driver claimed this is the best fish restaurant in the seaport city of Aqaba. His cousin owns it, but it was truly
good. I photographed the meal, eating on
the beach of the Red Sea. I easily could see all the countries that
meet at this point. Elat, Israel
looked highly westernized and four times bigger than Aqaba. It was only a few miles away and very
visible.
March 10, 1993 Wednesday Aqaba, Jordan
I
awoke at 5:30 a.m.
in time to hear the morning prayers being broadcasted through three old metal
speaker horns placed high in the minarets.
I went to the bus station because I intend to go to Petra today. I witnessed the only bus leaving Aqaba to go
to Ma'an. The next bus leaves in two
hours. I could see I'll miss the trip to
Wadi Rum offered to me if I would return to Aqaba before sunset today. I paid my one dinar to ride through some
spectacular desert that rivaled the Sinai and St. Catherine's. I sat quietly until I disembarked at Ma'an with half of
the twenty Arab passengers.
Now
I had to search for the correct Petra bus, and it was at
this point that I noticed I only had twelve dinar left. I walked to one bank who
wouldn't change the travelers’ check without my passport which was left at the
Jerusalem Hotel. They were kind enough
to contact another bank close by if they might cash the check. I was successful, but not without several
mysterious questions being posed to me.
Am I married? Where do I plan to go next? What hotel am I staying at? Soon I returned to find an empty bus waiting
to go to Petra
as soon as it had enough passengers.
After a thirty-minute wait, another likely passenger asked me if I was
willing to pay four dinar to encourage the driver to leave with fewer
passengers. I was ready to go, so I
paid.
Arriving
near to Petra,
I was encouraged by another traveler on the bus to go to the I Mousa House. It was very inexpensive, only three dinar, and it provided good company again. I must be getting lucky. I had to get a taxi to go to Petra which is four miles
downhill.
At
the entrance to Petra
I was convinced by a Finnish family of four that I should hire an
English-speaking guide and share the expense with them so they could travel
along. Eight dinar for
a guide per person in our small group of five. I paid the fee, and she gave me back
five. That was the deal we struck,
otherwise I would have gone without a guide.
The Finnish family had only the mother who spoke and understood English
so she had to translate for the entire family. The guide, Mohammed, said he was
going to take us through an incredible city that was the opening shot in an
Indiana Jones movie.
My
camera lost power in the battery, and I had to remove it. Fortunately the
camera will operate without a battery at all at 1/125 shutter speed. We traveled down a very stony path through
cracks, deep ones, in the sandstone.
Without knowing where the passageway was, a wanderer would never find
this ancient ghost town. The spectacular sights were much more than I had
expected. The ornate homes cut into the
sandstone formations had brilliant coloration due to mineral deposits of blue (aluminum),
red (iron), yellow (copper) and miscellaneous other mineral deposits.
Jordan
has generated interest in Petra
as a tourist attraction. There were bus
loads of Japanese, Italians and Germans arriving and leaving frequently. I noticed the Finnish family had gone off on
their own and no longer wanted the guide because it became too difficult for
the mother to continue to translate for the whole family, field their
questions, and interpret what had been said while Mohammed was speaking.
Mohammed
and I began discussing many things:
religion, problems of the Palestinians, primarily their attitude
reflected a deeply religious nature, very Islamic and how it conflicts with
non-Muslims, especially how it affects their desire to have land which they
were dispossed from.
We discussed the Palestinian question. He said he is Jordanian, but many
Palestinians live in Jordan. They are taking away jobs from the local
residents, but he understands how they feel.
How would you feel, he says, if someone took your home away without any
legal reparations . . . The authorities in power (the Israelis) just said if
you stay you'll die.
This is why the Palestinians fight for their sandy desert homeland
(according to Mohammed).
After
a while, I walked on my own and climbed some steps up to a colorful palace carved
in the sandstone mountain. I was rather
tired and anticipated a tough uphill climb to the main visitors’ center. One of the Bedouins asked me to ride his
horse to the entrance . . . for a price.
Two dinar was my counter offer to his initial request for ten. He accepted.
I rode the horse and was relieved that I didn't have to make that uphill
journey to get back to the entrance.
When we arrived, he said, “three dinar.”
“What? We agreed on two!”, I replied. He
shook his head and finger to indicate “No,” he insisted on three dinar which I
gave him rather than spend a great deal of time arguing. I didn't realize how hard the trip back would
be, and the road was littered with rosy-cheeked Germans and British constantly
out of breath in the hot sun. I had no
problem understanding their exhaustion because the tour was long, dusty, and
hot, but walking uphill over a gravel path was a tough trip, one that I was
happy to be taking the easy way out.
I
waited for the local bus. None appeared
during two hours of waiting at the bus stop.
I began to talk to Mohammed, my Petra guide. After his prayer break with several other
Moslems, we talked for a while. He
convinced me that I should share a taxi with him. He would show me a good restaurant in the town
of Wadi Moussa
close by. None were open. He brought me to his house where his wife
prepared "Upside Down," the Arabic name escapes me, but that is the
literal translation for a chicken and rice dinner. I met his son and his youngest daughter of
six. Later I met his wife and the rest
of the family. His son's house was built atop his, and both overlooked the
city. We watched the sun set. It was a natural 'light show'. Here it was explained to me that the name Petra means red
sunset. The entire town and surrounding
valley were bathed in the late sun red glow.
Before
they could break fast at the nightly conclusion of Ramadan, they brought
Neskafe for me. I drank it. We sat, with shoes off in the living room and
talked for hours, the three of us Mohammed, his son, Jihad, and me. The women all would eat separately in the
kitchen and only appeared to serve us.
The
living room where we ate was bare except for a large blue and tan oriental rug
on the floor. One wall was decorated with another rug with the image of Mecca weaved in it. Dinner was served to just Jihad and me
because Mohammed had to go to the house of one of his nine brothers to break
the Ramadan fast as a family ritual. I
ate with pleasure. I ate no uncooked
vegetables and drank no water. The food
was wonderful, like most Egyptian food.
The
bread was partially leavened and was an eight-inch diameter and one inch
thick. We had tea and spoke some
more. I agreed to meet them tomorrow for
a hike. He called a cab for me, which delivered
me to my hotel. Before l left the house
I thanked the family and got into the taxi.
March 11, 1993 Thursday Petra, Jordan
Back
in the hostel at three a.m.,
not able to sleep, I decided to write this entry. I have reconsidered about going on the hike
tomorrow and I will try to leave, instead, for Amman so I will have a few
days in Israel. Also, I must buy a special camera
battery. I haven't shaved or showered in
two days now, going on three. I enjoyed
this wondrous trip so far. While I
wrote, daybreak came quickly, so fast that I didn’t even notice. The morning is very cold, very biting. I was happy to have come here to Petra and I’m sad to
leave. Everyone else is still asleep,
but I must prepare to go. Without
hardship, I carried my backpack and camel hide suitcase out by the bus stop.
I
put all my stuff together and left the hotel "I Mousa." The bus comes right to the door of the hotel,
stopped, then just as quickly, it was gone!
I did not even have a chance to wave or yell. I went to my room for a while since the next
bus isn't expected for an hour or longer.
Surprisingly, in about seven minutes another bus appeared, so I was
prepared this time and left without goodbyes to the UK
travelers I had met while there. In a
short while after I fell asleep on the shoulder of the Arab I shared the
cramped bus seat with. We arrived in
Aqaba at the bus station, three blocks from my hotel. I needed a new battery for my camera and I
was able to buy it in Aqaba for three dollars.
The shutter wasn't operating electronically without it. I took my bags and left the bus after
thanking the Arab for not waking me. I
swear I don't remember starting to sleep. But the extra sleep was needed to
fortify me for the next bus trip.
I
spent less than an hour going to the Jerusalem Hotel in Aqaba to shower, shave,
and change clothes. I lost my rubber swim boots in the shower-Turkish toilet
combination room. This was established
like many cheaper hotels or hostels maintain.
Each wall in this enclosed room is about four feet wide with a tiled
floor. Mounted on one wall are the
showerhead and knob adjustments for hot or cold water. Closer to the center of the room, built into
the floor is a white porcelain basin with a large mouth for the drain. The basin has two raised rectangular squares
that are designed for each foot. The
mouth of the basin is directly between the small platforms, and slightly to the
rear.
At
the base of the water pipes is a spigot with a three-foot length of rubber hose
(used to “flush”).
The
Jordanian bus going to Amman,
the Capitol of Jordan arrived and picked me up at the noon hour. I paid two and a half dinar for my luggage
since it took a spare too. I was the
only non-Arab aboard even though no train or plane passage is possible between
these two cities. About three hours
later we arrive at the main bus station in town. It is the gateway city to Israel.
(Amman) I feel somewhat cut off from the world. I thought getting to Jerusalem wouldn't be
difficult, but I have experienced events that have taught me differently
now. The taxi driver, a heavyset man in
his late fifties with a greasy look about him, insisted on bringing his friend
along to a place clearly out of the way to my hostel then charging me
full fare on the meter. I had paid him
two dinar, which was half of what he wanted and should have been a generous
price for the circuitous method he used to bring me to this hotel. He angrily shouted some words at me as he
drove away waving his hand wildly.
In
the hotel it is warmer than the forty-five degrees outside but the proprietor
keeps it cold always I am told, so it’s not much warmer. I keep my jacket on. The hostel is on the third floor in the
center of town. There is plenty of good
company, other travelers with great stories, and the bed is soft. What more could I ask for? I fell asleep for an hour laying
across the bed fully clothed, exhausted.
Amman is very similar to
other Arab cities, except it is bigger and the homes built on the cliff side
add some charm to another quagmire of streets and shops. The watch I purchased
in Aqaba, to replace the one I destroyed while diving, said seven p.m.,
it seemed much later. I bought some
local cheese and bread since ALL restaurants are closed for Ramadan still. I ate it quietly and discreetly in my room.
My
guide book says I should expect to spend three days to get out of Jordan,
but I'll try to leave tomorrow. If I
can't get out, I'll have to stick it out here even though this is a business
town, not a touristy place at all. Maybe
I’ll take a day trip or two, but I’ll have to read more detail than my
guidebook offers. There’s little it says
(positive) about Amman. The room is clean and the surroundings are
pleasant, but it's simply that I foresee a quixotic dilemma before me. How to get out?! I hope I can quickly untie the morass of
paperwork necessary to straighten this Gordian knot of “travel papers to Gaza” (the Jordanians do
not officially recognize Israel).
I may regret my rapid departure without having
explored the Amman
environs if I discover there WAS something noteworthy here. I guess my answers will unfold tomorrow,
since the Ministry of Tourism is open from eight a.m. to two p.m.
only on certain days. I'd better not
dally. If I am fortunate, I'll find the
Post Office where I might be able to place a call to the U.S. I wish good luck to me. With every hour that passes, something else
of mine gets ripped, torn or broken. I'm
ready to throw some of it out the window.
March 12, 1993 Friday Amman, Jordan
I
awoke at four a.m.,
but I must also point out the trip is beginning to wear on me. I went to sleep at eight or nine p.m. last
night, and didn't wake up at all till morning.
For me, that’s a long time to sleep.
I was prepared to go on my quest for the visa, but I needed two photos
and the photo store didn't open until nine a.m. I sat talking with the busy proprietor of
this hotel sporadically confirming directions he issued to me how I should go
about arranging the visa quickly. I got
a shared taxi for eight hundred fil to go across town to the Ministry of the
Interior. In the interest of time I will
confess that I answered the question about religion as “Catholic.” I chose that because I wasn't certain how to
spell "Presbyterian" (is that spelled right?). I didn't want to be stuck here for a week
or, worse yet, have my passport lost, misplaced or any other calamity.
While
I didn’t want to deny that I am a Jew, while in the hostel I was advised, that
I wouldn’t be treated well nor quickly if I said I’m Jewish. This contradicts what I was told in Petra. I want to keep a truthful log of events, so
it is necessary I admit to something I wish to forget. In any case, I filled the form and delivered
it to the department manager, who was angrily barking orders to other Arabs who
argued back vehemently. I was told to
come back after one p.m.
(they are closed on Friday).
I
felt a great deal of relief just hearing that the visa would be ready then. I left, and as I passed the guard station, I
retrieved my camera and binoculars that I had to surrender when I entered this
military compound. I got out my compass
and map to plot my return to the Cliff Hotel where I could
have a bite to eat and get more film from my backpack. I took many pictures of store windows and
other things of minor note as I walked back.
I got to the Citadel, the museum in Amman, and was surprised to
see it open during hours that many shops and banks were closed in the afternoon
for Ramadan. Nothing
of note in this somewhat barren and certainly unfinished, rather blase parody
of a museum.
The
weather was very dark and cloudy. I
hailed a cab, and for two dinars, rode the rest of the way back to the
hostel. The rain had been coming down
lightly since I left the Ministry, but paused briefly until I was outside the
Citadel at the top of the hill. I wasn't
on the mark using my compass. I had
overshot the Hotel in my walk, but since almost all street signs were in Arabic
and the labyrinth of streets twisted so, I felt justified that I fell off track
as I did.
I
had walked about six miles but overshot my target by a mile. When I observed the taxi driver maneuver
through the twisted roads, it was easy to see how I never would have meandered
across the proper street. They had even
changed the name of several key streets in certain districts of Amman. Today I ate some dates after having
thoroughly washed and soaked them in boiling water. I have a slight case of diarrhea, but not bad
enough to prevent travel or make me uncomfortable.
I
had the good fortune to have met other residents of this hostel. Among them was Emmanuel, a young French
architectural student, and John, a white haired eighty year old retired medical
doctor who stated he owns several large estates in Great Britain and
Scotland. We developed a bond which is
often formed in the hostel environment.
I
left the hotel to trek back to the Ministry office to retrieve my
passport. Now that it is almost one p.m., I want the visa in my
hand. I went back by shared cab and got
close by. A Jordanian offered to take me
to it, and he walked out of his way to help me find it. So many helpful
English-speaking people here. I must say
how wonderful it is, and I must remember to return the favor when I am
host in my country.
I
quickly got my visa, one photocopied sheet with about ten names on it. My name had a red mark by it to distinguish
it from the visa issued to the other nine.
The
rain was coming down much harder now, and I looked for a cab. I wasn't going to walk in the recurring
rainstorm. Before I was able to get a
cab, I was a witness to an accident -- a man was going to pull across heavy
traffic to turn left, but because of the high cement island he should have turned
right. Instead of backing up, he chose
to attempt to make a U turn to go the other direction on a side street which
was also one way. The first car on the main
street stopped, but the car behind him couldn't stop because they both were
traveling at fifty mph.
Normally
fifty miles an hour would be okay, but when a light rain is combined with slick
cobblestones, it makes for a dangerous situation. The second car was pacing the first,
separated by less than four feet and lots of rain. The first car had to quickly apply the brakes
to avoid a collision with the fellow trying to cross the street. Rear-ender! Then the two drivers got out and
pulled the U-turner out of his car!
Everybody was okay, so I left.
Back
in the hotel room I found I had a young Japanese man staying here who spoke English. He's going to Kenya
on a safari tomorrow night. I went out
with John and Emmanuel to have dinner and coffee, two separate events. We had chicken with fried rice on a communal
center plate. I had fava beans with
bread. They ladle the olive oil over
it; I hate that part. We sat to a table
to try to eat this. John tried to taste
the beans, and he remarked "they don't taste right," so typically
British-phrased. He lays claim to having
lived eighty-six years, but looks exceptionally young. We paid the innkeeper and walked outside into
the rain. The three of us smelled
coffee brewing and the warm aroma of pastries baking. We almost floated into the little shop to
escape the biting cold wind and rain.
The hot pastry was soaking in a dark red fruit
syrup on the bottom. The top was covered
with slivers of toasted coconut, and in between the two thin layers of yellow
cake were hundreds of pistachio nuts held in place by white sugar icing. I washed my piece of this delicious cake down
with hot, dark, and gritty Turkish coffee.
We
walked back the short distance to the hotel through flooded streets. The air conditioning was locked on making the
rooms even colder than they would have been anyway. We had a few parting remarks, exchanged
addresses, then each of us left for our respective
rooms. I look forward to the twentieth
century in Israel
tomorrow. I must be out by five a.m.
or I’ll be spending the weekend here.
March 13, 1993 Saturday Amman to Jerusalem
I
have gotten the proper transportation up to the Allenby Bridge. I have seen no bus go over the bridge yet,
and no bus is due here until 10 a.m. according to the
timetable. The gates close till
Sunday. I am waiting alone at the
station for over ninety minutes. A
couple of buses stop across the street and fill with Arabs. After an hour, I became concerned whether I
would arrive in Jerusalem
today or not. In my concern, I ran
across the street and attempted to board this old, dirty, smelly bus.
The
Israeli soldier prevented me from doing so.
He didn’t get into a long conversation with me to explain the
reasons. He just stubbornly refused to
allow me passage on the Arab bus.
Moments later, two young Japanese tourists joined me. The empty bus arrived and brought the three of
us further toward the ancient city of Jerusalem. I spent four Jordanian dinar and twenty
shekels for the car to drive us to the bus station. I was very tired when we finally stopped in
the Arab section of Jerusalem,
just outside the Damascus Gate. I had
been handed some little leaflet which suggested I go to the Palm Hotel. The flyer suggested that the hostel was both
cheap and clean. The paper said that it
was really close by. I did an about-face
and walked straight toward it. It was
close by, so I walked about fifty steps then up two flights of stairs. Now that I'm missing my soap and rubber
booties, I had to go out to buy some. I
bought some Arab soap, smelling of cinnamon and in a ball, handmade and red
with white splotches. The toothbrush,
toothpaste, and razor were English or American brands.
After
washing up, I felt rejuvenated and wanted to walk around. Since I am in the Arab section I still felt
like I had not left the Arabic countries.
It's just like being in Jordan.
I
felt the spirituality of this holiest of cities as I stood on a street corner,
across from the Damascus Gate of the ancient wall of Jerusalem waiting for the
streetlight to change from red to green.
I may not have expressed that correctly.
I mean, for the first time in my life, a truly spiritual feeling gushed
over me, from head to toe, just something that I had never expected. I have never felt anything like that before
that particular moment. The flood of
pedestrian Arabs leaving for Ramadan pushed me here and there. The crowds were overwhelming, even so much as
to block my view of the City. I turned
around and moved with the flow, like rafting a river.
I
developed an overwhelming urge to sleep so I quickly found the Hotel and made
arrangements to venture out tomorrow for the Masada trip that left the
hostel at three a.m. Tired as I am, I should prepare for the
trip. Since I couldn't send out my
laundry, the washing had to be done by hand . . . my hand. I laid out a line and after washing a small
load of clothes, I rung them out and hung them on the roof to dry. Ramadan and the Jewish Sabbath coincide
today, so everything is closed.
The
weather has been extraordinarily cold at night, and today was no exception,
about fifty degrees and that deep cold where even the floors became
frigid. I've met and talked with many
people in this hostel. I'll stay here a
couple of days, then move onto the Jewish
section.
I
know I have found real pleasure in this lighthearted, lightweight, heavy-duty
traveling. I know some things I should
bring on my travels in the future: a
sturdy, but light internal frame backpack; a large handkerchief; thin, strong
rope; a good compass; more maps; two pairs of shoes (tennis and lightweight
hiking), towel, snack food. I should
also consider bringing chewing gum, a bag to hold a liter of water, a cup,
Swiss Army knife, a hat, plenty of socks and underwear, two jackets (one must
be weatherproof), a body bag, a good camera, a watch, extra glasses, booties,
wool socks, money, gloves.
Because
of the Sabbath, many Jews were at the Wailing Wall, and there were even more
tourists watching this truly spiritual experience for anyone. The sky was becoming dark quickly now, there was enough
light to see. Eerie shadows and darkened
corners changed how I perceived the city; it would have been a different
experience in daylight.
I
walked back through the darkly lit Damascus Gate. I found it thrilling to travel alone through
the cat-infested passageway and finding the opening to the main street at its
end. I would not miss the opportunity to
photograph the narrow ancient and foreboding path upon which I walked. It was devoid of all traffic, save four other
souls who were either brave or just ignorant of the dangers of which we were
advised. The failing light encouraged
me to stop and quickly compose a picture to remind me how a street character
can change with the loss of people and light.
It's not the street; it's those two elements that make up the
personality of a street.
March 14, 1993 Sunday Jerusalem
I
awoke at one a.m.,
partly because there was an argument down the hall which would have been
difficult to sleep through. I was
anticipating the Masada
journey starting at three a.m. Several people were still up and talking
loudly of their travels. Japanese,
German, and English were the primary languages I was able to perceive. The conversation was lively, and then
punctuated with political verbiage about the Arab situation. I tried to interject my comments about the
Arab side of the issue; weak as it may be, it still deserves to be heard.
A
minibus designed to hold eight comfortably arrived a half-hour late. Instead,
this early morning, it held ten people uncomfortably. The moon cast a faint shadow, but all the
stars were out to flitter their shiniest on those who
cared to look. The quiet wind hardly
issued a breath during our moment of travel.
We
hurried the seventy kilometers to Masada,
our first stop. I don't know exactly when, but I recall the British man sitting
tightly next to me, kindly moved head that was on his shoulder after I fell
asleep. The Masada was laying in wait to
capture my very soul. The trip (as it
was explained to me) would be a "walk up a hill-- not very
long." I enjoyed the
beginning. The "hill" was
still hidden in the darkness of night.
After awhile, my first vision of the “hill” opened through the curtain
of darkness and I saw the Snake Trail wind upwards for a very long
distance. The hike was much more than an
effort. I was wearing two jackets to hold back the morning chill. I lagged
behind, wondering whether I should give up my attempt to climb this long
trail. I was spurred on by the majestic
boldness of a monument to ancient attempts of human determination to remain
undominated.
My
struggle continued until I finally arrived in the Masada. The craggy path opened out to a huge field
with few buildings left in recognizable tact.
The buildings along all the walls stood as they did at the time of the
Roman storming of the city-fortress. We
had about two hours to remain within these walls but I felt I needed more
time. I sat, trying to feel the feelings
they felt thousands of years ago. Almost
-- but almost I thought I would feel something in just a moment more of deep
concentration . . . then the feeling was gone. I couldn't catch it as it wafted through the
air and momentarily touched us all.
The
trip down, other than each step being rather bone jarring, was easy. The company of a woman backpacker made the
trip short work. Her name was forgotten,
but her light conversation was most welcomed.
We
rode in the bus for a ten minute trip to the Dead Sea, where I braved the
very cold air and even colder water so that I could say I have done it. The photos proved it. The salt and chemicals were so strong, it was difficult for me to ignore the eyeful I got
almost immediately. After a few minutes
I exited the huge lake and attempted to dry myself with some aplomb. Standing on the beach in my white jockey
shorts was not a moment that I was impressive to anyone.
After
drying off, I went to get some coffee to warm up a bit. Back to the bus. Next was Ein Gedi I poorly chose to enter at
seven shekels. Not worth two
shekels. Some nice brook, a couple of
nice little waterfalls, some ibex in a fenced yard, but that was it. I imagine the importance of this place is
that it is like an oasis in the middle of the dessert.
Jericho was next. Little of note to see except for some yet not
completely explored mounds which are the only remnants of the oldest and
(altitude-wise) lowest city in the world . . .
uneventful is the word. We
stopped to see a beautiful monastery -- very scenic, but we only looked from
afar. We returned to the hotel. Because I was unable to shower was
encouragement enough for me to wander the streets of the Old City where I bought
a few small gifts. The clouds filled the
cold sky. I lost my bearing, but
luckily I departed the Old City,
as businesses closed on Saturday night about five p.m. through the New Gate,
which I stumbled upon. Israeli soldiers
with submachine guns or pistols are everywhere.
After returning to the hotel, I made arrangements to take a walking tour
of the Old City
at 11 a.m. I'm very tired now.
March 14, 1993 Sunday, Jerusalem
I
still want to go to Caesarea,
then I’ll leave for Tel Aviv and Haifa by train. After I visit Bethlehem tomorrow, I
will get my reservations for the flight home.
I
woke very late because of the conversation last night that lasted till late in
the night with other travelers. After a
hot shower in a very cold room, I shaved and left for a walking tour of the
City at 11 a.m.,
but since no one else was there, I was asked to come back at two p.m.
I
walked across the street to the Tower of David Museum. For eleven shekels I would join an
English-speaking tour of the history of Jerusalem. I saw how this City had been sought after by
many, but conquered by many. As I had
expected, the Israelis have many opinions that stand in juxtaposition to the
Palestinians, especially as plutocrats.
Everywhere land is a big issue.
And no solution that would satisfy a quorum. So it goes on -- without an answer, worse
yet, no one has a clear vision if an answer exists.
My
clothes, especially my jeans, are close to encrustment, and no easily
accessible laundry, compounded by poor weather conditions mean I’ll have to
wear these stiff jeans another day. I
revisited the origination point for the walking tour after some wandering through
the Old City
on my own. First I wandered upon the
Dome of the Rock, a point where Judaism, Christianity, and Islam all consider a
very Holy spot. Aesthetically, it was
beautiful. First, in order to enter I
must buy a ticket between eight and 10 a.m., when it is open to
non-Muslims. Other times only Muslims
may enter and nobody else. The beauty of
this shrine (not a mosque) was easy to sense.
The walls were coated in many areas with pure gold and stained glass
mosaics. The people were praying, women in the outer green rugged areas and the men were in
the center area of red carpets. Tourists
walked in ragged patterns looking at everything -- examining, photographing, moving . . . everything.
Forgetting, momentarily, the mystical religious values beholden to this
place by the faithful of this shrine, I could feel the undercurrents of
resentment by the people who were deeply in prayer, watching me and other
tourists with the anger of a caged man looking out at his observers. Nonetheless, curiosity overwhelmed me.
When
I exited the shrine, I quickly found my shoes and camera untouched. Quickly I put on my shoes for the marble
squares surrounding this monument were exceedingly cold. Rather than a contrast, I found the Jewish
quarter populated by Jews, who acted similarly to the Moslems in showing the
world their devoutness. I mean it was as though they wore their religious
attitudes on their sleeve. They were following the written word of their
religious doctrines to the fullest letter of its gospels, without question and
without adaption to modern times. Living
life like this seems to be so utterly without original thought, offering little
beyond the hypnotic value of repetition and creating an orderly existence. To me, this is too high a price to pay.
I
took only a light jacket and my camera when I left the hostel, a serious error
in judgment. Ten minutes before the tour
was to begin, the air chilled briskly and the clouds darkened deeper. I walked up the hill to the Jaffa Gate inside
the walls of the Old City.
This is where the walking tour began.
Because I had an hour before the tour was to start, I had an opportunity
to go into the Jewish quarter to eat a twin pair of falafel sandwiches which
are, amazingly, entirely vegetarian.
The
other tourists and I massed together tightly for warmth and to hear as we
started to explore the four quarters of Jerusalem. First the Armenian. Next, we saw the Jewish quarter and the
Wailing Wall, now referred to as the Western Wall. Then we visited the Christian section, where
St. Anne's Church is. To Christians it
is an important structure because the body of Jesus was laid here after he died
from the crucifixion. From walking
through this fractious church divided among five different factions. It
stood as a monument to how even the religious leaders have never come to terms
with each other -- forget for the moment the secular world -- the priests can't
even pull it together. All over the
Church work has stopped because of various arguments within each of the
groups.
I
could only describe as astounding amazement when I was a witness to problems
plaguing church administration. An
example was the placement of a ladder out front on the church eves and never
moved because of dispute between these factions since 1935. I saw it!
There were many other such issues plaguing this church, I would have
thought they could figure out how to get along together.
At
the Wailing Wall, now commonly referred to as the Western Wall, I couldn’t help
but feel a kindred spirit with the pious men and women davening at the
wall. Apparently the custom began when
the Temple
was torn down and desecrated by its use as a dump. The Jews were only allowed to come within
city walls two days a year for prayer here at one of the most sacred sites for
Jews. One of those two days was to
commemorate the destruction of the Temple. The men are only
allowed on one side of the wall and women must go to the other. This was the only place where I saw Orthodox
Jews buzzing around the men who visited the wall and attempted to get alms, not
for maintenance of the Wall, but to perpetuate their own Order. I was ashamed of them, for I am a Jew
too.
While
the five-person tour group in which I belonged saw quite a bit of the city, I was
happy to hear it was over. The rain and
cold permeated the light jacket and other light clothing I had chosen to
wear. I was soaked. I was happy to get
back to the hostel and dry off. I sat in
the communal main room and shared stories of exotic travel with others.
March 15, 1993 Monday Jerusalem
This
morning my intention was to see the Holocaust Museum, Bethlehem and Rachel's
Tomb. Later I would leave by train in
the afternoon. In fact that isn't what
happened. I did journey to the Museum of
the Holocaust and walked the grounds to witness the small but emotionally
powerful monuments noting those people and groups responsible for helping the
survival of many Jews. The Children's Monument of Mirrors
and Lights was especially touching to me.
Alone I was, since it would be twenty minutes before the Museum would
open. Even though there was no
admission charge, I quickly noticed that many exhibits were primarily photos. There were many original documents. Clothing, magazines, and armbands stood as
silent reminders of a horrific time. It
was a small exhibit.
I
was trying to get to Bethlehem,
but I was lost, so I took a taxi for twelve shekels to Rachel's Tomb. I walked
the remaining two miles to the women’s’ shrine.
Rachel's Tomb was within the Palestinian area. I entered and saw only women around a 7' x 8'
red draped casket, praying. The women
were making a mother’s prayer for their children.
Arriving
by foot in Bethlehem
about two miles away, I looked through the Arab Market section and bought a
huge three pound block of halvah for one U.S. dollar. I carried it the rest of the day, nibbling on
it periodically until I felt ill from ingesting so much of this oily sweet.
I
saw Andreas, a young German man whom I first formally met at the hostel. Actually we've bumped into each other many
times primarily here in Jerusalem. We traveled together for the remainder of the
day. I decided to get twenty silver
crosses, which I laid on the spot where Jesus was born. To serve as perfunctory proof of this, I
photographed the crosses lying there.
Cold and rain was outside, and there was no shortage of either. The weather was even worse than yesterday.
Andreas
and I went to the Israeli Museum,
which houses the Dead Sea Scrolls. While
the outer exhibit appeared as originals it was only later I was able to confirm
with a museum docent that these were really the original documents and not 1:1
photographs of the scrolls.
We
walked down a street populated with ultra Orthodox Jews. The style of living could easily replicate
the mode of living during the 1920's maybe in Holland, Poland,
Russia,
or Germany
except that all writing on posters and store fronts (with very little
exception) was in Hebrew. I purchased a
pastry in a busy bakery. I wanted to
photograph the scene within the bakery, but the proprietor adamantly
refused. The pastry I bought was filled
with nuts, raisins, and cinnamon, then rolled into a
long, flaky tube which was shellacked with egg white before baking. This gave a very healthy golden sheen to this
delightful, but filling, confection.
We
next stopped at a falafel stand. So many
of these things around, just like hot dog stands in the U.S. This one had an open display of the seasonal
and local favorite vegetables that you can stuff in the falafel, akin to relish
tray. I put a big red bell pepper and a
miscellaneous assortment of other unidentified vegetables, then I doloped a
soupspoon full of humus, a sauce that resembles thinned mayonnaise. I put some thin red, sugar powdered slices
of oranges in my sandwich, but they conflicted with the flavor of the falafel
and were removed quickly. I tasted
several other vegetables. After
consuming the healthy food, and licking my sticky fingers, I was ready to
(burp) go. I thought about how
successful a falafel stand might be in Venice on the Boardwalk.
The
walk back was just too long to walk in the inclimate weather. Andreas and I had
no real idea where we exactly were, so finally gave up and took a cab for
twelve shekels each. It was a welcomed
relief just to sit in the cab.
Back
at the hotel, the fireplace was burning heartily, and I quickly defrosted. Since the trip was so cold, it was a true
pleasure to stand by the fire, but weather usually intimidates travel in some way. I am looking forward to leaving inclement Jerusalem for, what I am
told is a much warmer Tel Aviv. I must
arrange my flight back to Los Angeles
soon.
March 16, 1993 Tuesday
Jerusalem to Tel Aviv
With
all my luggage I chose to take a taxi to the train
station. Nobody in the hostel knew
anything about the train to Tel Aviv, so I just went to the station and asked. “ Next train at 8:30 a.m., pay on the
train.” I was told by an official
looking man dressed in a dark blue uniform.
That was enough to get me in the right direction. Since there is only one train and the
passenger rail system is only between these two cities, I am certain this is
the correct train. Further, there are
only two cars attached to the engine.
At
this very moment I have boarded the train for Jerusalem. I took a walk
around the engine while it will continue to idle for another half hour. It is exceptionally cold in the rain, almost
as cold as my room was last night. The
communal living of the hostels is rather enjoyable with the pleasure of
interesting conversation integrated with this cheap, and very friendly, style
of vagabondsmanship fit me well.
The
train has not begun to move, but as I sit here I can, all too easily, see my
breath. My feet are numb. I want to get to Tel Aviv and conclude flight
arrangements to get home. I have always
felt a tugging of my heart at the point of a trip that I must say, "No
further, the adventure must cease now!"
The special fondness I hold for those dear to me, pull me home.
I
see why the trip by train is seldom used.
Rarely is a beautiful scene opened before me as we travel along the
coast. The chill in the air leaves when
we are a half hour outside of Jerusalem. The train is so empty that I can stretch out
in full comfort. The molded plastic
seats do not let me take advantage of all this space. The trip is over within four hours, traveling
at a slow pace. Stopping at the main
station just outside Tel Aviv I take my goods and find a cabbie who speaks
English and who is willing to take me around the area.
I
spent an exciting day in Tel Aviv. The
guide told little of this modern city which, it seems, is almost diametrically
opposite of Jerusalem. This vibrant city is searching out life, not
losing sight of the future. Jerusalem lives in the
past, a wondrously colorful past, but it's the past just the same. The excitement of Tel Aviv is around every
corner. It resembles other important
metropolises in the Western world. It
naturally loses charm without the advantage of an abundance of history like the
nearby town of Jaffa. It has let its tentacles reach out to swallow
Old Jaffa, an important seaport I visited on the way to Jerusalem.
Some
remnants of this ancient landmark still exist, but as far as I saw, the best
thing about Old Jaffa was the panoramic view of Tel Aviv. Buses emptied their guts, filled with jittery
and wobbly old tourists who venture forth from the same countries I have noted
before -- Germany,
France,
and Great Britain. These tourists are almost wholly the young
(under 25) and the elders (over 65). I
wonder where my peers are? This is a city, which has high level of
luxury I do not seek. I can find it well
enough in Los Angeles
and throughout America.
The
drive of the taxi, Yacobe, has not been married yet, but he hopes to be
soon. He is bewildered by my lack of an
ability to speak Hebrew. I offer no
defense. Other than a mild admonishing,
shown by the furling of his brow, I drew no harsher criticism. He thought I should "return" to Israel. This is not something I would consider with a
great deal of seriousness. Fruits,
vegetables, fish, poultry, and meat in this city looked good. The foods looked like something I would
eat. The weather was temperate. Housing seemed fine. A comfortable city to live
in.
A
snarling traffic jam was caused by a car occupied by one man. He had the misfortune to have his old,
battered, blue car fail to crest a gentle, wide mound in the asphalt
roadway. He was forced to turn around
while cars had to wait more than ten minutes on both sides of the hill. The taxi brought me down a street where the
high fashions of Israel
are found. I have been jaded by other more impressive streets in the world and
this boulevard stood little chance of stunning me.
I
did want to see the signs of Israel's
injury resulting from the 1991 Iraqi Scud missiles. We couldn't see any, but Yacobe said it
destroyed his front door and a window.
In our brief search, all the repairs had been made from what we
saw. He left me about six short blocks
from the beach and near a place where I could get, according to him, the best
falafel in the city. The approach to
selling falafel which this shop took was similar to a plethora of other shops
all over the Middle East.
The shop rules allow me to build a sandwich with all I can put into or on
it. If I can eat enough of the monstrous
creation (I saw many people build) without devouring the pita bread, I would be
entitled to fill the remaining bread pocket to its limit. On many occasions people would taste this or
that without raising the ire of the proprietor even if they elected not to buy
a sandwich at all. They were occasionally visited by schnorers that would
pocket food and "palm" it into their jacket pocket. I witnessed this.
I
walked from this eatery to the beach, where because it was a little chilly
sixty-five degrees at three p.m., few people populated
the very soft white sand within the city beaches. So I strolled along the sand between the
water's edge and the buildings that encroached the
beach. They had created some sort of
artificial recreational bay that was clearly manmade by its geometrically
rectangular shape. I walked for two
hours then I sat and had some ice cream at a Ben and Jerry’s ice cream parlor
and a glass of very cold water. I walked
through a section of the city streets that bustled with swap meet/flea market
scenery. I was happy to see the prices
were more fixed and more of them than not they were posted. Bargaining was still de rigor here.
Because
it was my last night, I decided to stay at a fancy hotel, the Carlton. I had traveled well under my budget and I
had enough scrimping here and there -- I need a good night's sleep. The room on the sixth floor was pleasant,
with a long view to the north of the Mediterranean. The bed was firm, the room was warm, and I
had plenty of hot water. It gave me the
right kind of environment to write.
The
taxi I took brought me to the water's edge of the Mediterranean. Not the spectacular sea I observed years ago
when by the Cote
d'Azure in France. The weather was pleasantly warm and no
rain. Just the warm would have been
enough to take away the Jerusalem
chill.
Even
while I was showering, I could hear the sounds below of a bustling city not
ready to give up this day, but preparing for the new one coming just the
same. I went downstairs and walked along
the beach. Since I have to be at the airport at four a.m. there isn't much time
for sleep but there is time for reflection.
My return flight leaves at 6:20 a.m., direct to LA with
stops in Paris
and New York/JFK.
I
want to reflect back on the trip. What
particular locations or incidents are most memorable to me? I will list from my thoughts as they come to
me this early morning. Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, Petra, Cairo, Abu Simbel, Luxor, the Valleys of the
Kings and Queens,
Aswan,
the island Philae,
and Dendra were wonderful. Also without
equal were Giza
and the Pyramids, Sacquara and the bones and shards of pottery. I loved the experience of the ferry trip to Aqaba,
scuba diving the Red Sea,
and Bethlehem.
I
found great pleasure in the hostels, eating endless falafel, grilled pigeon,
seeing the Masada, swimming in the Dead Sea, the people I've met and talked
with, riding the camel in the desert, the Citadel and Necropolis in Cairo, and
the border crossing of Saudi Arabia.
My
dinner with the Palestinian family in Petra will never be
forgotten. Egypt
and Israel
were certainly countries that I would strongly suggest traveling for the
historical value especially.
But
above all, the one shinning moment that I will recall with my greatest joy was
that one simple minute when I was standing across the street from the old wall
of Jerusalem. I was swept with the warm flush of
spirituality. I felt, maybe for the
first time, my kinship to the people of this holy land. I felt how my roots go back eons, way back.
I
didn't read other than local newspapers.
I didn't watch American television.
I didn't stay in tune with local, national, or global events except,
through dialogue with other people or travelers. I hope that some of the friendships that I
forged out of necessity or opportunity may flourish and that I may cross their
path again.
To
reflect on future events may be somewhat startling to me, having been "out
of touch" for a while. I'll refrain
from opening these journals to the eyes of others. Many personal feelings went into these
recordings. I tried to be generally
accurate (except in my spelling and punctuation). I am seized with the desire to purchase several
different newspapers to reestablish my understanding of world events from a
perspective I did not have before.
Some
notable observations I should record is that I see that Israel has an agreement
on paper with Egypt, but a strong popular undercurrent of anti-Israeli
sentiment runs deep within the Egyptians.
They feel that while Sadat was able to regain the Sinai Peninsula from Israel
after losing it to Israel
in the 1967 War, the Camp David Accord opened diplomatic relations between Israel
and Egypt. Still, popular feeling is that there is no
true camaraderie between the two. Both
people of these two nations distrust and dislike the other.
Palestinians
are, generally, more staunch in their sentiments. They are clearly capable and willing to cause
destruction and terror if that might bring them closer to their impossible
dream of regaining Palestine
and eliminating the state of Israel. At the time, in current events, there are
others which affected my security in travel.
The conditions, especially in Egypt, such as bombings by the Shiite Muslims who are intent on
overthrowing the Sunni Muslims in Egypt for two purposes. To install a government that they feel
resembles the clerical governing system in Iran. The second purpose is to topple the current
system by crippling the country's primary source of income, which is
represented under the heading of "Tourism" at about 80% of the GNP.
By bombing and anti-tourism activities, they
discourage travelers from visiting Egypt
and weakening the general economic health of the fragile (to begin with)
economy.
Jordan,
in contrast with Egypt,
has no treaty of peace, but its situation is rather different. Because Jordan
obtains financial aid from the US,
it is encouraged to have to have stable relations with Israel,
and I believe it does. Jordan
also gets aid from the United Arab Emirates
so it must play for that side also. I am
saddened by the observation that while each side has reasonable arguments to
support its position, there doesn't appear to be real
peace in the Middle East
for another five years or more before peaceful coexistence will be
resolved. They are just too far apart,
not from a diplomatic, but personal level is what I observe. Naturally, since Israel
was attacked through the Golan Heights,
it would be foolish to surrender it to Syria. It is a strategic strong point. Palestinians want their land back, but these
are the spoils of war. If Nasser had pushed the
Israelis, as he said, into the sea, I'm certain there still would have been
plenty for Palestinians to be unhappy about.
The
land was barren and yielded little of value.
I truly would have liked to find otherwise, but my observations are
clear, and it was demonstrated time after time.
March 17, 1993 Wednesday Tel Aviv
At
3:30 a.m.
I wanted to check in at the airport, but I had to go through a very strict exit
inspection as I walked through the gates.
Certainly no one can say that the Israelis are not being careful. The ticket that I hold meant that I must wait
till 5:30 a.m.
before I can leave my luggage. It may
have been a mistake to rush here to be early.
If I were to try to shut my eyes for ten minutes I know it would be
hours after the plane had departed when I awoke to discover this. So no more even thinking of
sleep till I'm on the plane. Some
time passes and I board, then the plane took off.
We
disembarked to the same waiting room I visited on the trip to Egypt. It was a dreaded moment when I heard that I
was paged. It meant I was bumped. Ouch.
They advised me that my new flight would go to Boston and land at about 4:40 p.m.
on Thursday, Boston
time. I sporadically was able to shut my
eyes for a moment, here and there
I'm
in Paris
with a full plane on my way to New York. Flight 803 to L.A. was sold out, so I
rescheduled to go to Boston
in two hours. With all the bad weather,
I'll be fortunate not to have a layover but if I do, I'll rent a car and go to
No Name Cafe.
I'm
dirty, tired, and hungry -- all the wonderful things that heap misery on the traveler. I hardly napped on the way to Paris because I had the
misfortune of being seated in the very middle of a row of five. To both sides of me were crying
children. My diminished pleasure was
amplified to a new low when, seated one row in front of me, a heavyset bearded
young man began throwing up shortly before landing. The flight was good, and the pilot steady,
but the odor permeated every breath I dared breathe.
March 18, 1993 Thursday Boston, America
Now
the plane should be landing soon. I am
happy to be back in the U.S. Boston is about 40E, and I have to go through Customs.
Still, to make the third leg of the trip, I must look forward to it. Time zones have changed three times already,
but at this point I am leaving chilly 28E
Boston without going to No Name Cafe or having some great pizza on the South
Side, the Italian section of Boston.
Instead, I had to quickly board a plane to St. Louis to link with
an L.A.
flight.
The
cramped DC-9 seems so small compared to all other flights I've taken. I have to stay overnight because I am not
able to arrange a flight. I have been
flying or waiting for
thirty-five hours, and I still have the St. Louis to L.A. flight to make. In
the morning I catch the first flight of the day to Orange County then take a
shared cab to LAX and go home. And so it
was.