Cairo Part Two: Totally Unscripted

I'll admit that I like to watch a movie or two, and I admit that I've been sucked into the romantic ideal of what it's like in Egypt. You know the kind of Hollywood notion I'm talking about, where a simple trip can lead to long lost treasure, danger and romance. Below is my photographic essay on what's real, and what ain't. (Please excuse the layout, Bloggers easy "click and drag publishing" is about as easy as clicking and dragging an elephant accross a mine field).

Travel (1)

The Ideal

The Reality

Travel (2)

The Ideal

The Reality

The Nile

The Ideal

The Reality

People

The Ideal

The Reality

Life in Egypt

The Ideal

The Reality

Treasure

The Ideal

The Reality

The Pyramids

The Ideal

The Reality

Thank God some things don't change.
Of course let's not forget Mummies and Pharoahs, Mosques and Minarets, koftah and kebabs, bargains and Baksheesh, noise, life and smiles. Thankfully not everything is as simple as Hollywood would like us to believe.

Till next time.
Jeff

Cairo Part One: Drive like an Egyptian

When it comes to world history, there are few places more mysterious than Egypt. How were the Pyramids built and why? Was Tutankhamun murdered or was it natural causes? And is there anyone left who remembers the road rules in Cairo? There are road rules in Cairo, I'm certain of it, just as there are nice neat lines painted on the roads. Unfortunately no-one is really paying much attention to either. (For the record, I suspect that the government once received a shipment of road paint by mistake and thought they should do something with it, hence the lines.)
Driving in Cairo makes you realise how much, as a traveller, you have to simply let go, hand your well being over to a man in an un-roadworthy car who has one hand on the wheel and the other firmly planted on the horn. I'm talking of course about taxi drivers.
To be a taxi driver in Cairo you need three basic things. The first of these is a car, and the only prerequisite for the car is to be black and white. Seat belts, doors that close, headlights at night, these things are all optional, to be utilised as the drivers see fit. There is talk that some people would like to see Cairo turned into an open air museum and the taxi drivers are obviously right behind this scheme, in some cases driving around in cars that are so old that the brand names are written in Hieroglyphics.
The second thing you need to be a taxi driver in Cairo is the ability to look death in the face on a daily basis. To stare into the cold endless eyes of doom, then swerve around him at high speed, honking your horn as you go. Either that, or stop and pick him up and see if you can't overcharge him for a short trip, death might be a tourist, you never know.
The third, and most important thing, you need as a taxi driver in Cairo is a fully functioning horn. Without this you might as well ship the car off to the museum and take up a life selling souvenirs at the Pyramids. I actually saw a taxi driver sitting forlornly by the side of the road on my travels, his car bonnet up, waiting for assistance. There was no actual mechanical problems, it was simply that his horn had stopped working.
Despite this, taxis are the simplest and cheapest way to get around Cairo. Or so they say. This is true up to the point where you actually have to get in one, make your destination known, survive the trip then get out and either a) argue about the fare or b), and I quote, 'Simply hand over five pounds and walk away, don't get into any arguments or discussions' (the taxis had meters, but they were never used). Most of the time we tried for option b, which meant sitting nervously in the taxi throughout the entire trip, holding a wad of bills clenched in our sweaty fists, whilst trying to also hold onto something immovable, our bags and our sanity. On arrival at our destination we would bundle out and the designated payer would thrust the sweaty bills through the window, mutter Shukran (excuse the misspelling) and scurry away. Simple.
Of course the taxi drivers, like any enterprising businessman, would try to get as much money out of us as possible, which often meant a whole trip arguing about the fare, with us threatening to get out before we would arrive and pay him less than he had been arguing for but more than the trip was worth. This worked for all parties because he was ultimately happy to get a few extra pounds and we were ultimately alive.
The other thing about taxi drivers, and this is a world wide phenomenon, is that they like to move at a fairly rapid rate of knots. A high turnover means more chance that the next fare will be some American tourist straight off the boat who wants to see the Pyramids (or the Statue of Liberty, The Eiffel Tower etc). Cairo, as a whole, is one big mass of movement that never stops and is certainly never silent. Despite this however, and the very best efforts of the men in the black and white museum pieces, the average speed of a car in Cairo now is a paltry 14kmh. Needless to say that everyone, not just the taxi drivers, is involved in a city-wide push to bring this average up, speeding wherever it is possible to do so.
In all this traffic, this maelstrom of honking and speeding, overtaking and organised chaos, pedestrians and animals, I never saw one accident the whole time. Sure nearly every car had multiple dents, so much so that when I saw someone with a new car, especially an expensive car, I felt sorry for them and their shiny unblemished duco. In the end though, there is method to this madness and everyone gets along just fine, as long as you realise that too close is never too close and being able to shake hands with the man in the next car at 14kmh is perfectly reasonable.

Stepping out in Europe.

Dag, Zdravo, Bongiorno and Hello,
It's been a while since I last blogged, but the lure of the real world was stronger than that of the virtual so in light of that I have spent the last two weeks wandering around Southern Europe with 15 kilo's of underwear and t-shirts strapped to my back.
Apart from various stopovers in cities, towns, airports, ferries and train stations, Miss K and I spent most of our time in Dubrovnik, Croatia and Cinque Terre in Italy. Any decent travel agent or website can give you the usual details of these places and extol their benefits so I won't go into detail on that score here. Instead I'm going to try and break down some of the some of the more interesting views on my travel experience.
Before I start however, I will just say that both Dubrovnik and Cinque Terre are gorgeous and anyone reading this should be suitably jealous.
Anyway below, in more or less the order that they happened, are some of the things I learned on my travels:
-The tower in the Cologne Cathedral has 509 steps, which is how many aches my body had the day I climbed it.
-Dubrovnik's streets are made of white marble which reflects the street lights at night. The marble is clean and free of dirt crusted chewing gum spots.
-In summer, it's so busy in Dubrovnik's old town that for a roughly 10 day period, the police must stand at the two city gates and control the flow of tourists. As one group comes out, another is let in. The police are essentially door bitches for the entire city ('Sorry mate, private party. Your name's not on the door.' 'Not with that Hawaiian shirt pal.')
-Milo and Bozo are not a circus act, but the names of the owners of the two villas we stayed at in Dubrovnik.
-Staying at a villa with a Croatian family next door means that the owner's mother will bake you tasty treats and pat you on the arm in a reassuring manner. Baked goods and arm pats are included in the price apparently.
-Many of the buildings around Dubrovnik are in varying forms of ruin, usually as a result of being bombed in 1991.
-This bombing had a profound effect on the city which is still being felt today. Milo and Bozo, as well as possibly every other able bodied man were involved in the defense of the city.
-A 50cc moped with two people will go seventy kmh down a slope with a good run-up.
-The same moped will go zero kmh up a steep hill, regardless of run-up.
-I look silly in a cream coloured motorbike helmet (sillier than normal.)
-The walls enclosing Dubrovnik are two kilometres around and there are views on both sides. On the outside are the ocean, port and surrounding mountains and on the inside are buildings, streets and peoples backyards.
-Both views are equally interesting.
-The houses outside the old town cling to a steep mountain along tiny streets that are made up of hundreds of steps, each one of which caused new and interesting aches and pains to add to those from Cologne.
-Croatians can, on the whole, speak better English than Italians.


-Getting ripped off by a taxi driver who drives at 150kmh is not a good introduction to a new country.
-Neither is trying to sleep on the tiled floor of a small airport between midnight and six am.
-Miss K gets sillier as she gets tireder.
-Until she just gets grumpy.
-People flying to Milan seem well aware that it is the fashion capital of the world and dress accordingly, even at six in the morning.
-Except us.
-Not even its reputation for fashion could keep the stores open in Milan on Easter Sunday.
-This fact probably saved Miss K some money.
-However it couldn't save me from 'window shopping'.
-After Dubrovnik, the dirt crusted spots of chewing gum on Milan's street stood out like tired backpackers.
-Cinque Terre is actually a huge national park surrounding five small villages.
-These villages cling to cliffs or nestle in bays at the foot of huge terraced mountains. The terraces are planted with grape vines, olive trees and more lemon trees than I have ever seen.
-Nonna's have the utmost respect in Italian families.
-Nonna's who live on the terraced mountains of Cinque Terre not only have the respect of their families, they also have huge bloody calf muscles.
-The villages of Cinque Terre have only recently been joined by train lines, but the main way to get from village to village is by walking the mountain paths. The word 'mountain' in this scenario is entirely accurate, the word 'path' however is frequently optimistic.
-Each step on the mountain takes you higher and rewards you with amazing views.
-The ratio of amazing views to aching muscles is about even.
-Sticking your feet in the chilly spring ocean after four hours of walking feels great.
-It's probably not such a blast for the fish though.
-Telescopic aluminium walking sticks with rubber stoppers are all the go with walking groups of retirees from France and Germany.
-Actual sticks from the woods have, sadly, fallen out of favour.
-There are solar powered telephones at the top of steep climbs in case you have a heart attack.
-Despite this the start of these climbs are noticeably free of signs saying 'Climbing this hill could give you a heart attack, and at the very least will make your underarms sweaty and your feet stink.' Or words to that effect.
-Crazy, rip off merchant taxi drivers that make a bad first impression for an entire country can be offset by glamorous train conductors and generous members of the public.
-Whilst the English of some Italians is not so good, once they realise you don't understand they compensate by talking rapid Italian at you, possibly thinking that the more words they say, the more likely you are to recognise one of them.
-A week in a foreign country is just enough time to get used to thanking people in their own language.
-Saying Quanto Costa to a shop-keeper in Belgium will get you strange looks.
-Just because the airport you are flying from or to contains the name of a major city, doesn't mean it's actually anywhere near that city.

So that's a few of the things I have learned in my recent travels. I am briefly back in Belgium to wash the dust of the road from my clothes and try to get used to another pillow before we head off for a week in Cairo where I will be living all my favourite Indiana Jones memories (Snakes, why'd it have to be snakes?).

A couple of little bits of other news, I have added a new link to a blog from one of my compatriots who is eager to spread the gospel of talkin' shit. See recently sited, above on the left.
For more literary and high brow entertainment, check out the Salon held by Sleepers Publishing, a local Melbourne publisher (link also above). The one coming up has the author of one of my favourite books of recent times, Craig Silvey, who wrote Rhubarb. Check it out and support the grass-roots of publishing, details are on the site.

So that's it until after Cairo.

Tot Ziens, Dovidenja, Arrivederci and Goodbye for now.

Jeff