Tag: Road Trip Blog

DESTINATIONS, International, TRAVEL

What’s a Wedding Without a Belly Dancer?

Jane Sadek

TRAVEL THERE: THE CELEBRATION’S CROWNING GLORY

If you’ve ever been to an Egyptian wedding and they didn’t have a belly dancer, then you’ve missed out on a wonderful treat.  Bassem and Mariam’s wedding was an over-the-top experience in a lot of ways and true to form, when it came time for their belly dancer to appear, you can be sure she didn’t disappoint.

The Excitement Builds

From the moment the bride and groom made their pyrotechnic appearance in the Fairmont’s Pearl Ballroom,  we were treated to excess after excess.  Generous pourings of fine scotch, a grandiose buffet and amazing desserts were just the beginning.  The dj kept the dance floor filled and a great time was being had everywhere you looked.

Suddenly, everything came to a screeching halt.  The music stopped and the dance floor cleared, but the excitement level went through the roof.  The belly dancer was about to make her appearance.

I Love Belly Dancing

OK, I’ll confess, I love belly dancing.  Whether we’re enjoying a festival like Scarborough Faire, taking in the State Fair of Texas, eating at a Middle Eastern restaurant or attending a travel show, when the throbbing beat of drums announce the appearance of a belly dancer, I make a beeline to the edge of the stage.

While I’ve never taken a belly dancing lesson in my life, I did win a belly dancing contest on my earlier visit to Egypt.  I’d dressed up for Gallebeya Night on our Nile Cruise with no idea I’d be belly dancing before the night was over.

When they began a light-hearted contest and were getting a slow response, I stepped up on stage to dance against a fellow passenger in the spirit of fun.  When the music started, I wiggled around with my hands up in the air, making what I hoped were belly-dancing-looking gestures.  I won the match-up completely unaware that it was just the first round.  Time and again I was asked to dance against other passengers and to my amazement I somehow won every round.

On the last round, an appropriately-garbed and obviously properly-trained dancer shimmed up to challenge me and I tried my best to bow out of the embarrassing match-up, but no one would allow it.  In my clumsy, but joyful attempts, I had become the crowd favorite and even though the real belly dancer danced circles around me, when the crowd was asked to vote with their applause, I was the overwhelming winner.

Over here in States, the dancers are a mixed bag.  More often than not, amateur performers share their pure love of the art form and I revel in their delight.  From women so skinny their ribs are hanging out to voluptuous ladies with rolls of fat freely jiggling, each lady who practices this art is braver and more skilled than me.  Huzzah!  Here’s a sampling of belly dancers we’ve enjoyed.  And yes, that is Bill on stage. He’s always the guy they pick for crowd participation, but I’m the one who won the belly dancing contest.

 The Best Ever Belly Dancer

Though I am a big fan of belly dancing, I have never in my life seen such a beautiful and talented dancer as I did that evening.  While I have seen some attractive women shake their stuff, the crystal blue eyes, gorgeous skin and toned muscles of this wedding dancer put her in a class all by herself.  Her performance included several costume changes.  The first one, a red velvet number encrusted with many gems and spangles was without a doubt the most glamorous and elegant costume I could have imagined, but every time she reappeared, she raised the bar.

During her finale she invited everyone up to dance with her and this time it was me, rather than Bill who danced with the star.  What fun we had.  Enjoy these pictures of us enjoying the show.  Then come back next week as we take off our wedding finery and head out as tourists.

 

DESTINATIONS, International, TRAVEL

Egyptian Time Dragging By

Jane Sadek
Mommy, when will the bride and groom come?

TRAVEL THERE: WHERE ARE THE BRIDE AND GROOM?

In case you’re just joining us, let me remind you where we are.  I’ve just attended my first Coptic wedding, an amazing experience.  Now I’m sitting in the Pearl Ballroom of the Heliopolis Fairmont, waiting for the arrival of the bride and groom.  I didn’t join my husband as he went to work the room, because I had a broken shoe and didn’t want to wander around barefoot.  There is no food, no drink and no music, because nothing is supposed to happen until the bride and groom arrive.  Everyone around me is speaking a language I don’t understand.  I haven’t eaten since breakfast and we’re coming up on ten o’clock.  The adventure is wearing thin and my bed is beginning to sound pretty good to me.  The promised buffet and belly dancer aren’t as compelling as they seemed before.

Angry with No One to be Mad at

Don’t you just hate it when you find yourself growing madder with every minute that passes and you don’t even have anyone to blame.   Of course, Bill would be using the time to visit with old friends.  He didn’t tell me to stay at the table because my shoe broke.  I made that decision myself.  And who exactly could I blame for my broken shoe.  I chose them out of my large collection of shoes and I have no idea when or where I’d bought them.  It was no one’s fault but mine that I was the only woman in the room with slicked back hair.  My nieces had tried to get me to have my hair puffed up professionally.  I couldn’t blame anyone else for the fact that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.  Who besides me decides to diet on a vacation to a wedding?  I couldn’t even blame anyone for the fact that they were all talking to each other in another language.  I’ve been married to Bill for over 20 years.  I’d had plenty of time to learn a little Arabic if I’d wanted to to.

Even without basic language skills I began to realize this wait was a little longer than the usual Egyptian wedding reception.  The blame for the delay was generously passed around.  Some said it was because the wedding was on a holiday and there wasn’t enough staff to take care of everything.  Some blamed the caterer, who was, by the way, out of town directing the whole thing via phone.  Some blamed the couple themselves for not coming down to join their guests and rumors of wild partying in the bridal suite spread out among the tables.  Some blamed the groom and his family.  Others blamed the bride and her family.  We didn’t have anything to eat or drink, but there was plenty of blame to share.

It Gets Better, But Not For Me

Beautiful Family – Bill’s sister and our grandniece

Because of the extreme wait, some changes to tradition were made.  Someone finally delivered a plate of mezza to the table. I wanted to grab it and find a corner to devour it in, but I played it cool. I had a couple of olives and a few bites of something else. Later I regretted my restraint. Everyone must have been as hungry as me, because every crumb disappeared almost immediately.

They also loosened up the liquor, but when the drinks finally did arrive, it was just scotch.  On the night before the wedding the bride juggled guests while the groom juggled scotch.  There was not going to be a bar or champagne. Mind you, they drink very good scotch, but that’s all they drink.  Bottles of the popular beverage enhancer were placed on the table in generous proportions, but I don’t drink scotch – at all. The room got friendlier and the blame for the delay got gentler.

I had to make do with Coke Zero.  It took so much effort to get a can of it, I dared not do more than sip, because I might never see another. I soon felt very much like the designated driver, only it didn’t come with any of the satisfaction serving that the role usually provides. I was just the only person in the room over four feet tall who was not drinking – and I was starving.

I learned from the four foot tall crowd that there was a sweets station.  It was cute, with cupcakes and candy, but no true cure for hunger.  Out of desperation I sampled some of the choices, but too much sugar when I’m hungry only gives me a headache and I hate wasting calories.  So I continued to suffer in silence.

Will the bride and groom ever show up?  Come back next week and find out!

 

Architecture, ART, Decorative Arts, DESTINATIONS, International, TRAVEL

Wedding Day in Cairo Egypt

Jane Sadek
Wedding Invitation

TRAVEL THERE: A VERY DIFFERENT KIND OF CEREMONY

So far, Bassem and Miriam’s wedding day has been pretty mundane, if you don’t count the machine guns on our bus.  Once the church doors opened, everything changed.  We were at a Coptic Wedding.

Saint Mark Coptic Church

When the huge doors opened, the scent of incense wafted out into the waiting crowd and I was awestruck.  The church was gorgeous, obviously very, very old, but beautiful.  You got the impression God had been hanging out here for a very long time.

It was not a particularly large church, but it was grandly decorated with beautiful paintings and an amazing amount of gold.  There was no formal seating going on.  Everyone just wandered in and took a seat.  There was no his side and her side, just folks wandering into a pew as they entered.  The family was sort of huddled over to one side.  We had some front row seats, but they certainly were not particularly advantageous.

Even the groom gets an outfit!
Shady reads the Scripture
The interior of the church
The Altar
The smaller guests
Photographers everywhere
Daniel takes a nap
A cross atop the church
The bride’s father greets guests
One of the church’s towers
Waiting to enter the church
The interior dome
A handsome couple
The Resurrected Christ
EVery couple is treated like a King and Queen

Forget What You Know About Weddings

Throw out preconceptions, because this had nothing in common with your basic American wedding.  The bride and groom were seated in thrones at the front of the church.  The photographers and videographers considered themselves very much part of the ceremony and spread themselves out across the front of the church.  Joining them on the stage were a group of priests in decidedly Coptic garb.

Coptic Officiants at the Wedding

Now I’ve been to weddings where there were more than one officiant.  Sometimes it’s because each family wants to be represented or there are several members of the clergy in the family.  This wedding had an entire crowd of priests.  They’re the guys wearing the black turbans, but these four in the picture are only a sample.

I was made to understand the number of priests reflected the status of the people getting married and no one could remember a wedding where they’d seen more priests.  Most gratifying was the priest who had come all the way from Sharm El Sheik because of my niece, who holds such a special place in their congregation.  Each of the priests participated in one way or another.  Some doing ceremonial duty and others delivering pithy little sermonettes to the bride and groom. (None of which I could understand, of course, because they were in either Coptic or Arabic.)

All the while, the church was a beehive of activity.  Along with all the priests were acolytes and altar boys wandering around doing a variety of tasks, from swinging incense burners to lighting candles.  At one point my nephew Shady went up to read the Bible.  Also any time a priest wasn’t involved in the ceremony, they were kept busy blessing whoever came up to the stage, bowed before them and kissed their hands.

Folks seeking blessings weren’t the only ones who came up to the stage.  As if the photography and videography crew of about six people weren’t enough, no one hesitated to pop right up out of their seat and head up to the front to get a picture – and if the best angle was between the priest and the wedding couple, then so be it.   

Behind their back, their very expensive decorations are already coming down

I was gob-smacked.  I couldn’t believe it.  The bride and groom were almost an after-thought in all the frenetic activity.  Suddenly it was all over. The bride and groom stood.  A few pictures were taken and we all filed out of the church.

Let the Turnover Begin

I was still trying to  process what I had seen, when I realized that as soon as the bride and groom had their back towards the stage, folks started tearing down the decorations so they could get set for the next wedding.

An American church might have 2 or three weddings on a given day, but Coptic churches schedule about an hour per wedding and stack them all day long, from early in the morning until late in the evening – especially on holidays like the day after Easter.  If they get behind, which apparently they always do, then they just hurry you up a little more.

Once we were outside, you could see they had already redecorated the entry to the church and on a corner near the church were the floral remains of several different ceremonies.  Egyptians do have a receiving line, but it’s held on the porch of the church, rather than at the reception. As the wedding party assembled into the obligatory formation, a limo pulled up in front of the church.  I will never forget seeing the bride get out of the limo, go through the security routine we had and then climb up the stairs to the sanctuary.  It was one of those odd scenes that you can’t erase.

Then it was back in the bus and back to the Fairmont.

DESTINATIONS, International, Road Trips, TRAVEL

The Electrical Emergency

Jane Sadek
What do you think? Not bad for an old lady with an electrical emergency?

TRAVEL THERE: THAT MOMENT WHEN YOU HAVE TO PUNT

Bill’s taking a nap.  Our clothes are pressed and ready to wear.  It’s time to do my hair and make-up.  What could go wrong?

The Electrical Emergency

We’d discovered an AC/DC outlet in the bathroom as soon as we arrived.  We’d been recharging our phones since then without any trouble, so I assumed I wouldn’t have any difficulty with my hair appliances.

I’d had a hair appointment hours before I got on the plane and planned to put my own hair up into a French knot, using one of those long-fingered combs that makes it a relatively easy thing to do, even for me.  This particular comb had rhinestones and pearls on it, so I thought I was going to be pretty cute.  We all know that slightly dirty hair is easier to put up than when it’s freshly-washed, so I was all set.  The finishing touch was going to be wispy tendrils all around my face and neckline to soften the look.

While Bill took his nap, I plugged in my tendril curling iron, whipped my hair into the French knot and put on my make-up.  The tendril curling iron didn’t heat up.  I’ve had it for a hundred years and don’t make tendrils very often, so I laughed at myself, thinking I’d carried a broken curling iron all the way to Egypt.  Not to worry, I still had a regular barreled curling iron, electric curlers and a flat iron.  Surely something would work.  Nada!

I began to panic.  The women in the family had suggested several times that I take advantage of the hairdresser who was coming to the hotel to do their hair.  The bride had her own hairdresser, but everyone else was sharing another guy.  I’m funny about my hair and usually when a new person does my hair they freak me out.  I end up with a bouffant larger than something from the Sixties and want nothing more than to hide until it deflates.  Right then the bouffant sounded pretty good.  Sure I’d gotten my hair up into the French knot, but I needed tendrils.

Just about then, Mr. Bill woke up and, as calmly as I possibly could, I told him I needed his help with an electrical emergency.  First he performed all the plug-ins and plug-outs I’d already performed, but that was fine.  I hoped he’d hold his tongue just right and make everything better.  That didn’t happen, but we did locate another AC/DC plug next to the desk, so we tried again.  This time the tendril curling iron heated right up and I thought I was set.  Mr. Bill headed into the bathroom and I pulled out various wisps of hair to curl.

I picked up the curling iron and was about to curl my first tendril when I realized smoke was coming out of the barrel.  I ripped the plug out of the wall and tried the next curling iron.  It wasn’t behaving properly either.  I attempted a few curls, but I was scared the overly-hot implements were going to melt my hair.  That’s all I needed to ruin my day – melted hair for the wedding and every other event for the balance of the trip.

I tried wrapping the tendrils around my fingers and spraying them with hair spray.  Nope, Lori had done entirely too good of a job making my naturally curly hair straight.  I couldn’t get it to curl for the life of me.

Thankfully, I had not pulled too many tendrils out or I would have had to start all over.  It would have looked like my French knot had simply come untied.  My look was not complete, but I had about 15 minutes to slide into my waiting clothes and get downstairs for pictures.

As I put on my dress and accessories, I had a talk with myself.  This was Mariam’s day, not mine.  I was not going to let a little electrical emergency ruin it for me.  I thought I looked a little more severe than I had intended, but I’d just go with it and pretend I’d wanted this very sleek look.

On to the family photo session.

Accommodations, DESTINATIONS, International, TRAVEL

My Ahhhhhh Day

Jane Sadek

TRAVEL THERE: TAKING IT EASY

After seeing off the guys, my first stop was the laundry.  I was wondering if they’d be able to press my dress and Bill’s suit for the wedding.  Nope, they were closed for the holiday.  That determined a lot of what I’d be doing for the day.

An Hour at the Spa

The spa was on the other side of the pool.  As soon as I exited the building, a nice lady wanted to help me out with my pool arrangements, but I didn’t want a towel, a chair or a cabana.  I was just passing through.

If you’re interested, the spa was quite nice.  I spent my hour on the treadmill,  I actually prefer a recumbent bike to a treadmill, but I wasn’t at home.  There was a nice variety of workout machines and stations, but no bikes, so I made do.  The gym area was neat, attractive and clean, not the cluttered mess of some hotel’s workout rooms and all the equipment worked!  They had bottled water, towels, magazines and other amenities to enjoy.  More than once an attendant checked on me to see I had everything I needed.  High points for the spa.

Those Semi-Wrinkled Clothes

In spite of folding tissue paper in with our wedding clothes, as my mother had taught me to do, when I pulled them out of the suitcase in the wee hours of Saturday night, they looked like a wadded mess.  Late Monday morning all Bill’s suit needed was a little touching up, but my dress was still pretty pathetic looking.  The bodice with all the beads were fine, but that full skirt looked pretty bad and the sheer lace over-blouse was still a mess.  Since attacking it with an iron almost ensured I’d melt some of the sheer chiffon in the skirt, I tried the old traveler’s trick – a steamy bathroom.

I hung the dress and blouse up over the toilet, glad for the commode’s lid, and took a very long hot shower with the shower door open and the bathroom door closed.  By the end of the shower I had a lake on the floor and the room was pretty steamy, but the gown needed more.

I toweled down and put on the fluffy terry robe provided by the hotel.  I made the water from the shower even hotter than I could tolerate on my skin, opened up the hot water tap on the sink all the way and escaped from the bathroom, trying to leave as much steam as I could behind.  I gave it about 15 minutes and then checked on the progress.  The room was all steam, but the dress was still a little wrinkly.  I turned off the water, gave my outfit a good shaking out and then left everything in the steamy bathroom.

As the wrinkles melted, I caught up with my travel journal, spent some time on social media, read a little, did some crossword puzzles and entertained myself with various distractions.  I’d opened the window to the perfect weather outside and was glad the hotel actually had operable windows.  I enjoyed hearing cocks crow throughout the nearby neighborhood and I’m pretty sure I heard a peacock.  Some kind of black birds cackles dominated the sound track for a while, but they moved on.  I’m sure there were traffic noises, but thankfully, faint enough to ignore.  From time to time I’d hear the crash of a metal tray or the sound of something heavy being dropped.  It was pleasant.

A return to the bathroom revealed the steam had all dissipated.  The dress was fine. The over-blouse still needed some help.  The room had a very nice full-sized ironing board with a heavily padded cover which I wished I had at home.  The full-sized iron had markings in both English and Arabic.  I was in business.

The blouse took no time at all, but the suit actually ended up giving me some challenges.  I wished I had put it in the steamy bathroom after all, but now it was too late to start all over.  Just about the time I got it and Bill’s white shirt professional laundry perfect, in walked the man himself.  He was earlier than I anticipated.  Khan-il-Kalilli had been a big disappointment, a dearth of dealers because of the holiday and far too dirty to be enchanting.  They’d found a cafe and enjoyed some down time, too.

Now Bill was ready for a nap and it was time to start on my hair and makeup.  Comeback next week and see what happened next.

Accommodations, DESTINATIONS, International, Restaurants & Bars, Road Trips, TRAVEL

Wedding Morning Breakfast at the Fairmont

Jane Sadek
Quiche at Le Marche

TRAVEL THERE: WHAT I DID ON THE DAY OF THE WEDDING

Waking up in my hotel room, my first thought was, “This is it.  Bassem and Mariam’s wedding day.”  My next thought was a sense of gratefulness that I hadn’t allowed Bill to talk me into a tour on the day of the wedding.  I planned to relax all day.

Back to Le Marche Cafe

When we headed out of the room on our second morning at the Fairmont, there was no question about where we’d have breakfast.   We were going to Le Marche, as much for the delicious food as for our friend, Ahmed. We were momentarily disappointed when Ahmed was not there to greet us, but when we asked for him, the other guy faded into the background and a wide-smiling Ahmed appeared to welcome us back.

We sat down to peruse the menu and enjoyed several chance encounters with family, who passed to and fro in the lobby.  The groom scooted by on an errand, then along came the bride and her mother with a trail of attendants.  The attendants were in charge of the luggage and a rolling rack which was transporting the wedding gown.  Don’t worry the gown was completely covered, so there was no peeking.  Double kisses all around!

Next to arrive were nephew Steven and his friend John.  They decided to join us for breakfast and enjoy the attentions of Ahmed, the new friend of the family.  The meal was delightful.  I ordered a scone and got a second one on the house.  Steven ordered a chocolate croissant and got a Danish to boot.  Bill was delighted by his generous slice of quiche.  John, however, did not have such great fortune with his selection.

John’s Egyptian fantasy meal was a plate of fresh dates and figs.  He arrived a day or two before we did and asked for this delicacy at every opportunity and though he continued his quest throughout the whole trip, I don’t think he found it anywhere.  So much for Raiders of the Lost Ark.  Ahmed was so disappointed to admit he couldn’t provide the plate of dates and figs, but he suggested fruit instead.

John wanted to know how the fruit was presented.  “Is it on a platter or in a bowl?” John asked.  “Whatever you like,” Ahmed assured him.  “Is it a fruit salad?” John asked.  “No,” Ahmed replied, “it is a salad in a bowl.”  That being settled, John decided to see what would appear.

Ahmed roamed back and forth between the kitchen and the table.  Beverages were the first to appear and for awhile it seemed that was about all we were going to get.  Then the orders dribbled out.  First the pastries.  Then a while later, Bill got his quiche.  We were all just about done, when we started making noise about the missing fruit.  Ahmed was contrite in his protestations and assured us the fruit was almost there.

Ahmed, you were a treasure, but the fruit bowl, salad or whatever was a disappointment!  I’m sure any American could have driven to the nearest Kroger, bought some grapes, apples and oranges, returned home to chop them up into a bowl and then delivered them to the family, faster than Ahmed delivered up the same boring bowl from somewhere in the bowels of the Fairmont.  Not even a pineapple slice, no melons, nothing.  Just grocery store fruit!

Going Separate Ways

Bill was still having a difficult time believing I did not want to fill up every moment of the trip with tours and museums, but I was truly new and improved.  When Steven and John suggested he join them for a trip to the Khan-il-Kalili, I had my fingers crossed he’d join them, so I could have some alone time.

The crossed fingers worked.  The guys headed off on their adventure and I created my own spa day.  Come back next week and see how it went.

DESTINATIONS, International, TRAVEL

Dropping in on Pre-Wedding Insanity

Jane Sadek
Fun in Heliopolis

TRAVEL THERE: JANE, THE PARTY-POOPER-OUTER

On the night before the wedding, Bill and I visited our family in the throes of insanity.  The drive to the apartment was chaotic, but that was nothing compared to what was going on inside when we arrived.  I can attempt to describe it to you, but you will only be able to understand glimpses of it.  I was there and I still can’t figure it all out.  

Last Minute Wedding Arrangements

The most entertaining of the  on-going activities, in my opinion, was the ritual of packing scotch into suitcases.  I’d been challenged by organizing three bottles into my checked luggage and all I had to worry about was a weight limit.  This operation was tied to an intense discussion of the seating arrangements which was going through endless changes, right there at the 11th hour.  I know all seating charts tend to be in constant flux, but both the bride and her soon-to-be sister-in-law were now on the verge of tears…or murder…or maybe both.

Rather than three bottles of one kind of scotch, the groom was in charge of countless bottles of scotch in a wide variety of brands, that were somehow being organized into suitcases, based on the seating chart discussion.  Egyptian weddings don’t have bars.  Bottles of scotch are delivered to the table by the waiters, but you don’t just buy X numbers of bottles of Y brand scotch.  Most people have a favorite brand and to honor them you must provide their brand of scotch.  On some tables there were people with varying tastes and decisions had to be made as to whether you moved the people or changed the scotch.

Thankfully, I was married in America and served the same champagne to everyone.  All this craziness was making me thankful for a lot of American things.

This very important scotch operation was frequently interrupted by calls to the groom from the so-called wedding planner, who was actually only a florist.  She was out of town and in spite of the many assurances she had provided that her absence would in no way effect the smooth execution of the wedding, she was now making call after call to inform the groom he was going to have to see to this being delivered or that being picked up.  To cope with it all the groom was helping the other family members consume the contents of several bottles of scotch which happened to be open and therefore were not being sorted into the suitcases.

Hanging with the Fam

The Ebb and Flow of It All

I heard rumors that the seating chart and scotch operation continued throughout the night, but I wouldn’t know, because, of course, I fell asleep and had to be taken back to the hotel far earlier than the end of the festivities.

From the moment we entered the apartment I was baffled by all the action going on around me.  I’d observed the sleeping children, seating arrangement frustrations and scotch packing in the bedrooms of the apartment.  Someone was cooking a meal in the kitchen.  A group of men were opening a bottle of champagne in the dining room.  I made my way to a sofa and acted as an observer.

Like the flora and fauna living in a tide pool, the occupants of the apartment crashed around the rooms in surges of waves and then settled into new pockets as the wave retreated.  One moment everyone would be in the dining room and then I’d find myself sitting alone in the living room with not a family member in sight.

One wave crashed the family into the living room with me and I was able to distribute those all-important gifts that had distracted me since we decided to go to Egypt.  As far as I know, the gifts were a great success, but even if they were all wrong, the family members pretended they were perfect.  See, they do love me, in spite of my otherness.

With the waves of people came waves of invitations to eat and drink.  Many of the invitations were verbal and usually included a long list of choices.  In spite of my continued protestations that I was fine, the invitations to eat and drink continued.  Eventually, the hostess began to ignore what I said and just bring boxes of pastry, bottles of water, a diet soda, sandwiches and a variety of other things to place on the coffee table in front of me.  Then I’d be offered another list of possible comestibles.

Once the gifts were open I began to drift into a snooze.  It was way past my bedtime.  I’m sure the details of getting back to the room were fascinating, but all I know was that I woke up the next day at the Fairmont.

DESTINATIONS, International, Road Trips, TRAVEL

Wandering Around Heliopolis

Jane Sadek
Inside a traffic jam

TRAVEL THERE: THE CRAZIEST TRAFFIC IN THE WORLD

Rent control isn’t the only problem in Egypt.  Try finding a trashcan.  If they were ever installed, they would probably be stolen.  In Giza I saw what could have been a lovely square in the town center, but all that was left was the metal frame of several benches on stark concrete.  The wooden slats had been removed and utilized elsewhere.  Weeds had filled what was intended as a garden spot and a layer of dust covered everything.  It was a small picture repeated in a variety of ways everywhere I looked. 

Our Tour of Heliopolis Continues

While I had thought Mona’s neighborhood was pretty crazy last time I was in Egypt, on this trip, super-imposed on the already crowded and confusing landscape was a construction project of gargantuan magnitude.  They are putting in an underground transit system.  Forget any American construction site where thoroughfares are rerouted with the use of bright orange detour signs and interruptions.  While these are frustrating, Americans usually keep these tangles contained in a manageable block of space.  This entire section of town was a construction site and no attempt was made to provide passage.

I honestly don’t know how the people were living in the midst of it.  All the main thoroughfares were blocked and side streets were all but impassable.  Navigation consisted of winding through the every day insanity of triple-parked cars and vendors setting up shop in the middle of the street.  And that was just the beginning of it.

I saw streets where 10-15 of the locals had dragged their lawn chairs (not that there were any lawns) out into the street for a good chat and smoke, while the detoured traffic tried to maneuver through the madness – spinning their steering wheels, honking their horns, waving their hands, lucky to make inches of progress and shouting their frustrations.  On almost every block you would come upon a small child standing in the middle of the street, with or without shoes, absently holding a toy and gazing into the distance.  Maybe they would move.  Maybe they wouldn’t.

And that dust I’ve made so much of?  The air was thick with it.  It didn’t just show up in a layer on coffee tables, it was thick in the very air you breathed.  I keep trying to figure out a way to explain it to you and all I can think to compare it to is an intense pinball machine, where the center section is completely blocked and the obstacles on the sides have been multiplied five-fold.  You would have to be the pinball wizard to play, because telekinesis would be your only hope of moving the ball.

And Suddenly We Were There

The horrendous traffic was a blessing of sorts, because no one could  throw me out of the car and drive away.  I could walk faster than they could drive.  Mirette suddenly turned into a parking lot and we were there.  We were the ones parked in the third row of the three-deep cars.

Next was the elevator.  I’m more of the stairs type, but I was warned away from them.  The apartment was ten stories up and each story had several flights of uneven stairs.  The elevator was so tiny that I didn’t know how Bill rode up with us with his extreme claustrophobia.  There were two elevators and even though there were only three of us, when it would open on a floor (and it opened on every floor), the potential rider would glance into the car and then wave us on.

Entering the apartment was like entering a riot.  Family members of all ages were spread throughout the rooms and in each room was the site of some kind of intense activity and none of the activities seemed related to what was going on in the other rooms.  One room did have several children sleeping in a bed, but I don’t know how they managed to do so with all the racket.

I have more to tell you about the fun evening, but you’ll have to come back next week!

Architecture, DESTINATIONS, International, Road Trips, TRAVEL

An Interlude for Observation

Jane Sadek

TRAVEL THERE: A LITTLE NIGHT WANDERING

Our lunch at Baalbak was great and we could have easily sat around the congenial table and chatted for hours, but at seven they had to open for regular patronage.  They finally shoved the last of us out of the room at about 6:40.  To a certain extent, hysteria was setting in.  We had a wedding in less that 24 hours.

Time for the Gifts

After lunch, Bill’s family went into a variety of directions.  Some back to hotels, others to Mirette’s apartment and Bill wanted to know what I wanted to do.  Well, my number one priority was still delivering gifts.  Good husband that he is, he got us back to the hotel, gave me enough time to get the gifts wrapped and then arranged for someone to come pick us up, all so I could get the gifts off my list.  Perfect.  The bonus was that he got to take a nap – albeit one where he had his head covered with a pillow, because I was rustling tissue paper and gift bags.

In good American time, Mirette came to the hotel to pick us up.  This is the point at which I get to tell you what a doll she is.  She adores her Uncle Bill and is so sweet to me that I could just eat her up.  This girl has a heart as big as they come and it is open to everyone.  Love her!!

My beautiful nieces. Maggie on the left and Mirette on the right.

Sister Mona’s Old Apartment

Mirette’s apartment is in Heliopolis, not far from the Fairmont.  It’s in the same neighborhood her mom used to live in.  Bill was interested in driving around and seeing how things looked, because this is where Mona lived since the time he was a boy.  He has fond memories of daily trips to the area for Mona to tutor him.  Believe me, he was a lot more interested in the daily trips than he was in the tutoring.

I’d stayed with Mona for a day or two on our last trip and been amazed by a few of the constant inconveniences of life in Egypt.  For one thing, they don’t have little things like building codes which demand that you must build a parking lot to accommodate the people living in a building.  Parking cars two and three deep around a building was the norm.  The density is hard to imagine.  One huge multi-story apartment building after another built chock-a-block.  You can literally reach across and steal your neighbor’s underwear hanging on the patio of an adjacent building.

You don’t need alarm clocks, because early morning prayers and the vegetable crier with the donkey cart will wake you up.  The dust is appalling.  You cannot keep a house clean.  The water may or may not work.  The same with electricity.  Life is chaos.  And this isn’t in the ghetto.  This is in one of the best residential areas in Cairo.  I found it mind-boggling.

Rent Control vs. Life Control

My liberal friends like to tout ideas like rent control.  Before you think rent control is a good idea, take a gander at Egypt.  It has rent control.  The place is built and you pay through the nose for the most basic of apartments.  The buyer is responsible for finishing out the apartment, so while you may have a very elegant tasteful finish, the guy on the next floor can negate it with his purple porch or maybe he’ll never finish it out, leaving a hole where there should be an apartment.  Maybe he’ll put up curtains or build something on his patio.  That’s tough, because once your in, you’re stuck.  While things may seem expensive in the beginning, hang around, you’ll have a bargain in a few dacades.

My sister-in-law now lives in the apartment she renovated that belonged to her parent’s.  The rent is equivalent to $10 a month.  She’s got an absentee landlord who allows one of the tenants to be his super and the perk is this agent is allowed to run all kinds of scams – overcharging for electricity, doing faulty repairs, whatever. But Mona’s got it good.  Her neighborhood is still one of the nicer ones available.

The worst part for Egypt is that Mona is the exception that proves the rule.  She could afford to do a renovation and she works hard to keep her apartment clean and attractive.  In most cases, by the time a family has lived a lifetime in an apartment, it desperately needs to be renovated, but there isn’t any money.  The owner of the building certainly isn’t going to renovate it, because the building no longer has any value to him.  He will continue to collect the minuscule rents until the last person there dies or maybe he won’t and if he doesn’t, maybe his super will take them for himself.  Many, many buildings are in horrid disrepair.  Perhaps there’s no one living there any longer and the owner has abandoned it.  Perhaps there’s still a family or two in the building, praying they can somehow continue to get water and electricity until they are dead.

You can spend the next day or two trouble-shooting this, but you have two possible ends – the current situation remains or the government gets involved.  We Americans assume that the government is just going to come in and fix everything, but what happens if the government we are depending on is broke.  Welcome to Egypt.  Let’s just hope it’s nothing like this ever happens to us, but just to be on the safe side, let’s not have rent control.

 

DESTINATIONS, International, Restaurants & Bars, Road Trips, TRAVEL

Baalbak Lebenese Restaurant in the Sonasta Hotel

Jane Sadek
Marvelous Maggie

TRAVEL THERE: EASTER LUNCH WITH FAMILY

In this particular blog, I’m going to rave about our niece Maggie, but please understand, there is no way we could have had such a great trip if not for all of our wonderful nieces and nephews.  I’ve already told you how glad we were to see Mirette and Ayman at the airport and how our trip was enhanced by Steven and his traveling companion.  The list goes on, but Maggie was my rock.  She guided me through the challenges of gift-buying and what to wear for the wedding and what to pack for everything else.  Her English is perfect, so she’s easy for me to chat with.  She’s also the one who pulled together a perfect Easter Lunch for all the families on the day before the wedding.  Kudos to this sweet, bright, beautiful lady!

Egyptian Customs

I’ll have a lot more to say about this when we actually get to the wedding, but they don’t do marriages exactly like we do.  Rehearsal dinners are not a thing there, for instance, but Maggie wanted an opportunity for all of the family to get together, so from her home in Michigan, she planned a delightful luncheon for the whole group, including a car to deliver us from the Fairmont to the Sonasta Hotel where the luncheon was.

Egyptians don’t do lunch like us either.  My lunch juices start flowing about noon, but Egyptians don’t start thinking about lunch until around 2 and a midnight dinner is nothing too far out of the ordinary, but it’s usually more like nine-ish.  Which brings me to my dining schedule while I was there.

As I’ve mentioned, we usually had a huge buffet for breakfast and according to what we were doing that day, it could be anywhere from very early to nearly 11 AM.  Whatever time breakfast happened, I needed to load up. If we had an early breakfast, chances are I wouldn’t see food again until late afternoon and that afternoon luncheon might or might not be the final meal of the day.

If we had a later breakfast, it really became brunch, and I’d try to avoid a mid-day meal and hold out until that late dinner.  From time to time that meant the application of a little chocolate to my thighs via my mouth, and I tried to keep that to a minimum, but I had plenty of chocolates, thanks to the Ghaly’s beautiful gift.

Most days I was able to keep my intake to two meals, but then something would happen and I found myself eating three feasts in one day, along with some snacks forced on me by an eager hostess.  That I only gained five pounds on this trip really was a miracle.

Lunch at Baalak

Baalak, is a lovely restaurant in the Sonesta Hotel featuring regional specialties – kofta, grilled veggies, stuffed grape leaves, eggplant casserole, macaroni in bechamel, rice, potatoes, grilled chicken – all the good stuff.  However, they only serve dinner.  As I have mentioned, Maggie planned this incredible feast long distance and it was a doozy.

When we arrived I gave the traditional two kiss greeting to everyone and while I wished I could have completed the gifting then and there, this event was to honor the bride and groom, so all I had was their gifts.  The balance of the afternoon was spend around the table enjoying one of the most congenial and delicious afternoons you can imagine.

We are an international family.  We’re spread out throughout Canada, the US and Egypt, but I’ve heard of relatives in Paris and as far away as Australia.  The careers represented range from medical doctor, to teacher, to investor, to stay-at-home-mom, to laundromat entrepreneur, to financier and the list goes on.  The children are beautiful, precocious and indulged.  We are very interesting to ourselves, but probably not to you.

The next day was the wedding, but we’re not there yet! Come back next week for more family fun.