Stu's visit to Egypt.
09/14/01
Thank Allah It's Thursday
The weekends here are just a little different than weekends at home.
Either I'm scuba diving on the reefs off the south shore of the
Sinai Peninsula,
floating on a felucca down the Nile, or staying in town and going to
any
number of dance clubs and flat parties. Planning your weekend
is a higher
priority than planning your classes.
First of all our weekend begins on Thursday after school.
Friday is the day
of Muslim religious observance so most stores are closed.
Saturday is a day
off of school, but frankly is a very normal workday as far as shops
and
services are concerned. The normal workweek is considered
Sunday through
Thursday.
If you decide to stay in town, it means one of several things.
You're broke, you've just traveled last weekend and can't fathom
another bus ride, or there's a really important party. This weekend
it's
all three reasons.
My first paycheck doesn't come until the last Thursday of the
month. The
school gives advances very willingly, but I am trying to stretch my
pounds to
make it until then. I went to Sharm El Sheik last weekend for
a dive trip
that was so absolutely amazing that it deserves its own story.
Suffice it to
say that it included a five hour drive, through desert in a Hyndai
Excel with
a small gas tank. Finally, tonight was Disco night at the
Maadi Rugby Club.
First of all, the British use "Disco" to refer to any
dance club with a DJ as
opposed to live music. I was picturing some seventies revival
theme night
complete with John Travolta look a-likes. Thankfully, no one
was in costume
and the music was typical top forty and classic rock.
The Maadi Rugby Club is a "members" only hangout for
expatriots. An
expatriot is any Westerner who lives and works in Cairo. They
are teachers,
businessmen, embassy workers, engineers, sales reps, and any other
person who
has business here. Generally they are American, Canadian and
British. Since
hard liquor is not available legally to the public in Egypt, you
must belong
to a "Club". Essentially membership is acquired by
paying ten pounds at the
door. Then you purchase drink cards at the bar, which the
bartender checks
off as you buy drinks. So you see, you aren't walking
into a bar, you are
going to the "Club". You aren't purchasing
alcohol you are purchasing a
small paper card. It seems convoluted, but it works.
Once inside the Club it is absolutely no different than a thousand
college
bars around the US. A wooden bar with stools, a DJ, open space
for dancing
or standing around, loud speakers, glasses and bottles of beer,
mixed drinks,
and pool tables. Frankly, it was a breath of fresh air.
I didn't think I
would see a place like this until next summer at Woody's.
It was the perfect
cure for the touch of homesickness that was setting in after the
tragic
events of the week.
I was in my element. A whole new group of friends that hadn't
heard all my
lines and jokes yet. People that had no reservations about
getting stupid on
the dance floor. Lots of laughing. Chicks with Canadian
accents, eh? The
drinks flowed, the music blasted and the party never stopped.
Home by two AM. Guzzled two bottles of water by two-fifteen
and asleep by
two-thirty. Thankfully it wasn't much later. I
have to repeat the process
Friday night at a huge mixer that includes teachers from three
different
schools. Next weekend I think I'll go to the Red Sea on
a day trip.