Stu's visit to Egypt.
09/03/01
One of the social gatherings that the returning teachers organized for new
teachers was a Felucca ride on the Nile. There was also a party at a
returning teacher's apartment afterward, for those that survived.
I never
made it to the party, but more about that later.
A felucca is a sailboat. Specifically, an old, wooden vessel with a
hand
stitched sail and an eighty-two year old toothless man at the rudder.
Presumably, when new feluccas are produced they are made to appear old
because there are hundreds of feluccas for rent and they all look like
Cleopatra may have been the last one to rent them.
The accommodations are simple. Bench seats around the perimeter of
the deck
with a large, flat table in the center which we piled high with bags of
beer,
bottles of wine, cheese, pita, humus, and fruit. We fit about forty
people
in one then decided to rent a second one, which was lashed, to the first
side
by side. Basically two big party boats floating down the Nile.
The sun was setting in the west as a full moon rose in the east. The
air was
cooling from a daytime high of 40. (Centigrade here, sorry.
Just add 32,
divide by 9, multiply by 5 then give up and figure 40 must be really hot
cause I'm in the desert.) It was comfy in cotton pants and a
T-shirt. No
need for jackets at night.
Well, I had a great time. I socialized with everyone, started the
name game,
went into a round of "Row-row-row Your Felucca", and wrapped up
with "Tell
about the first time you met Stu." This actually was kind of
boring since
everyone had just met me, but it certainly broke the ice. I can't
wait to
play it again.
We all chipped in five pounds for the three-hour ride and piled into taxis
to
go to the party. By this time I had been hydrating myself with
plenty of
fluids. Six Sakara beers, two glasses of red wine, and a fruity
drink that
may or may not have had mango juice in it. Twenty minutes into a
five-minute
cab ride I realized the driver had no idea what I was saying.
Neither did
the other three passengers and they were teachers from Boston.
Luckily one
of them had minored in Arabic, but unfortunately she lived thirty miles
away
and had no idea where we were going. That was supposed to be my
responsibility since the party was in my neighborhood, just five minutes
away
from the boats.
An hour had passed by the time we got the taxi turned around and we were
standing in the right neighborhood. And we still couldn't
find the party. I
felt confident about the directions that were described to me on the boat,
but when we found no apartment. We walked up and down flights of
stairs in a
dozen different buildings. We called people's names out from
the sidewalks.
Boabs tried to help, but only got upset. We thought we had a lead
when an
Egyptian man who spoke English approached us and said that he thought an
American lived upstairs. When we knocked on the door though it
turned out to
be an elderly Canadian who was not hosting a party for fifty people.
The Boston teachers took a taxi back to their house and I returned to mine
dejected. My roommate stumbled in around four AM and told me what a
great
party it was. Somehow, I missed some of the directions and missed
the
correct street by two blocks.
That's the way it goes here. Nothing is as easy as it was in
America, but
then again if I wanted them that way I would have stayed in America.
A
positive attitude is your best defense and at all costs, don't lose
your
sense of humor. By the way, life isn't any easier for native
Egyptians.
Traffic, bureaucracy, delays, bargaining, and broken appointments are par
for
the course whether you speak the language or not. They have a
saying, "Mish
mush calla." "It is no matter." In other words,
"Don't worry. Be happy."