Okay, so I’m not really married, and gratefully I am a long way from twelve. But you may ask, how did a mild-mannered marketer at the corporate offices of a luxury company become Yasmin, Belly-Dancing Queen of Cairo?

Not one to do things half measure, after sixteen hours of exhausting phonication with Aeroplan I finally wrestled out of them a business-class flight that didn’t route me through Winnipeg and brought me back within a time frame that wouldn’t seriously compromise my career. Despite a delay in Heathrow and consequent feverish sprint through Frankfurt, I arrived in Cairo relatively refreshed. If you get the chance to fly Lufthansa’s business class, do — the beds extend fully, and I highly endorse the built-in massage feature. The plane was so new that frequently I’d hear the German equivalent of “aha!” coming from the flight staff as they discovered new and wondrous buttons. The Lufthansa legs were a far more positive experience than Air Canada Toronto to London where I had the misfortune of being sat next to The Drunk.  He managed to spill wine on me (white – mine), and on himself (red – his). His constant yawning in my ear was a singular pleasure.

The arrival experience in Cairo was painless, especially given that I was fully escorted by a Greeter, arranged by our hotel, who whisked me through a line-less immigration. I was delighted to see my bags and my travelling friend, Alison, who had been waiting for me for three hours in the very grubby and female-free airport, and was thus even more thrilled to see me.

Our hotel, needless to say, was fantastic. We were given a gorgeous suite – with two beds! – overlooking the Nile, a short walk from the Egyptian Museum. We were extremely well taken care of, from the Mercedes transfer to the in-person lobby greeting to my friend, the Director of Marketing, who said “call the Spa whenever you’re ready for your free massages”.

Best view of the Nile

Friendly chaos

streets are awash with people, pedestrians carrying innumerable bread products, carpets, livestock on their heads.  I used a friend’s Arabic cheat sheet to chat with our cabbie who spoke no English. I quickly mastered how to say “I do not understand” which complemented my blank look quite well. Our destination? The pyramids of Giza and the Sphinx.

Upon our arrival I reluctantly agreed to take the horseback tour with a sketchy-looking fellow named Adan.

Would you rent a horse from this dude?

Next thing I knew, Alison and I were on a couple of horses (she on Mickey Mouse, and I – wait for it – Charlie Brown) heading in the opposite direction from the pyramids into a very local neighbourhood.  Not the most auspicious beginning.  After about 30 minutes we finally picked up Adan’s horse (Rambo) and, thank goodness, ascended to the pyramids.

We were surprised to find ourselves in a desert! I had heard that the pyramids abutted a fast food empire (who hasn’t heard about the KFC across from the Sphinx), but that was not my first impression.  All I saw were Egyptians on horses and camels, sand dunes, and pyramids. I was impressed. We even went into one of the pyramids; a hilarious experience.  The passage was extremely narrow, the ceiling about three feet high, the air quite close. Now imagine passing a group of shell-shocked Japanese tourists, having a traditionally-dressed Muslim man screaming at you in Arabic about an empty sarcophagus and not giving him a tip (so I presumed), and then passing a group of about 20 children on the way back up, in the dark, each of them greeting you with an enthusiastic “hello!!!”  Egyptians are pretty friendly.

And we came upon a desert...

The view from Charlie Brown

Sphinx

Back on the horses, Adan decided to spice things up by telling our cartoon characters to pick up the pace. As we broke into a gallop, I was relieved that my childhood horse-riding experience kicked in — I comfortably posted to Charlie’s rapid gait.  Alison, however, began screaming in panic and begging Adan to tell her horse to stop as she bounced alarmingly in the saddle. Being a sympathetic friend, I shrieked uncontrollably with laughter. It was then I learned this was Alison’s first time *ever* on a horse.  I gave her a lot of credit… and laughed even harder. Clearly impressed by my horsemanship, Adan offered me his hand in marriage, and asked would I like to ride an Arabian horse tomorrow?  I politely declined both opportunities.

Upon returning to the hotel to freshen up, I discovered Charlie’s saddle had torn a small hole in my jeans (Alison saw this as revenge for my laughing at her), but this was no setback with my complimentary sewing kit!  Newly tailored we ventured downtown where we were befriended by “Friday” who – imagine that – took us to his family’s shop. Cynicism aside, Ali and I had a lovely time hanging out with his brother Mohamed. We were provided with tea and adorned with Lotus and Desert Flower essential oils. (She purchased; I did not.)

The face of Khan el Khalili

Camel for dinner?

Colourful Khalili

When we finally made it to the more touristy chaos of el Khalili, we were endlessly bombarded by plucky vendors with “Hello! Where are you from?”  (the response: Canada Dry, that joke again? sigh) until finally I said, okay, I’ve had enough, I’m going to learn how to say “hello” in Arabic. I was a little suspicious of the Arabic cheat sheet my friend had given me; the expression for hello was beautiful and just a little too lyrical.  Sure enough, upon its use I was met with surprised, albeit friendly looks.  I found out later that it meant roughly “welcome to my home”; no wonder they began asking me if I lived in Cairo. Ali meanwhile was mastering various ways to communicate her lack of interest in the incalculable trinket offerings. We ended up in one lively shop where, inspired by the middle eastern music and the metal castanets placed on my fingers by the proprietor, I began to dance like I learned in belly dancing lessons (that is, before I became I belly-dancing dropout).  Wouldn’t you know everyone working in the store (about ten males, ranging from 15 yrs to 40) instantly dropped what they were doing, started smiling, clapping, and closing in on me, while others walking by on the street also stopped what they were doing, started clapping, smiling, and closing in on me. Turning bright red, I gave them one final figure eight with my hips and graciously thanked them.  Those three lessons finally paid off!

The day’s highlight, however, was the fabulous meal at an authentic Egyptian restaurant, Abou el Sid, hosted by my friends.

An Egyptian feast

We began with assab (a sugar cane drink) and Stella, a local pilsner. Then began the parade of delicacies: foul (fava bean stew, rhymes with pool); tamiya (like a Krispy Kreme donut made of foul); mombar (rice and seasonings in sheep’s gut, putting a most definite closure on my vegetarian days); bamya (okra stew); sharka seya (chicken with walnuts, served on rice); merguez sausage; stuffed vine leaves; lessan asfour (which means tongues of birds, but more appetizingly comprises chicken stew with tiny pasta); arnab (rabbit); molokheya (a green vegetable stew made with rabbit stock, onions, cilantro, and garlic, whose traditional method of preparation includes a giant gasp, which in my case would be as I spilled it on the floor); keshk (chicken stock, flour, yoghurt with dried onions — doubles as wallpaper paste); and roasted eggplant. For dessert: om ali (a bread pudding made with croissant – heaven); mokhala beya (pudding of milk and cream), and fetir (a multi-layered pancake of filo made with black honey).  And if that wasn’t enough, Alison and I completed our Egyptian dining experience by smoking a toffa (apple) shisha.  Welcome to my home, all right!

Welcome to my home

The most extravagant necklace in Cairo

We met a new friend who wanted to be in our pictures.  When he wanted just one more, if you please, of you and me kissing, I politely declined that opportunity.

We were quite looking forward to that evening’s activities. My friend Deb who works for the Canadian International Development Agency in Egypt had invited us to an event at the Canadian embassy. Those familiar with Cairo know that many parts were modeled after Paris, and a good number of buildings, especially around our hotel where there is an abundance of embassies, have a romantic, colonial, and somewhat run down atmosphere, heightened by the overhanging trees and quiet winding streets. As we walked to the embassy, I imagined us elegantly sipping VQA wine, chatting with the ambassador while listening to a lovely string trio in the delicate courtyard. This quickly evaporated as we rounded the corner to a big, ugly rectangle and were greeted by a staff member who gleefully announced “we got ham tonight!!!”  Not just ham, but three kinds of sausages as well (yippee). But no white vinegar for the fries. Some Canadian event, eh? Harrumph. The caterer was a formidably large blond German gentleman, ergo the sausage dominance. They may not have had vinegar, but they did have a giant bowl of fried onions, so I made das poutine, ja. While Deb and her husband Erich tended bar, Alison and I mingled with some interesting characters, including an Australian nurse with six-year long dreadlocks who was shortly off to Darfour with his wife to work for Medicins Sans Frontiers.  The Canadian Pub Night is quite the draw, and the crowd was considerable. Lots of happy ham eaters.

On our walk home unfortunately we had one of those dreadful moments when you can’t see where you’re stepping because it’s pitch black and you too late wonder how big the animal was who walked the same path earlier in the day.  Luckily I had made a water feature discovery on our hotel room’s toilet the previous day (standing in front of it, fully dressed of course), so we had a solution for cleaning our boots. (Those aware of my previous travels know that discovering mysterious water features is a hallmark of my hotel stays.) On the theme of magical hotel room happenstances, I also unwittingly found that if you press 6 repeatedly while listening to voice mail, it doesn’t delete the message but speeds it up so it becomes one long, rapid fire sentence that is difficult for even a native English speaker to decipher. Of course, I didn’t realize this initially and was surprised that I had never noticed what a fast talker Deb was.  I hope the hotel has figured out how to undo it.

Samir Abass

Starting at the north gate, in about six hours we covered Bayt el Suhaymi, an old arabic mansion; Wakalat Bazar’a (medieval business centre and hotel); walked down the gold street; ate lunch at el Ahat el Gidit; visited Al-Azhar mosque (the oldest university in the world, teaching continuously since 969 AD); and climbed the minoret at Bab Zuwayla, all along having contextual explanations and questions answered, of which I recall absolutely nothing.

View from the women's quarter in Bayt el Suhaymi

Cairo seen from Bab Zuwayla

As I always say, “nothing says Cairo like tortilla chips and guacamole”, so we finished our time together with drinks and snacks at the bar. (Not as good as you get in Mexico, but Mexicans’ Lebanese buffets don’t compete with Cairo’s.) As much as we hated to tear ourselves away, we had our massages to go to!  Well-kneaded and scrubbed clean, we were escorted to the Mercedes and whisked off to the airport in record time (the entire country was watching the world cup qualifier between Egypt and Congo, won by the former 4 – 1), which of course meant for Alison that she yet again spent an inordinate amount of time hanging out in possibly the greyest place on the planet. But at least it gave her one last chance to perfect her two newest favourite words: la and shokran. (No, thank you.)

The homeward journey was blissfully uneventful, aside from the twenty minutes during which the airport staff held my passport hostage while they refused to check me in when their computers couldn’t pull up my Aeroplan ticket. But I just relaxed, remembering the simple advice Deb gave us to survive Cairo: “Just surrender.” So I surrendered, and bid Cairo a warm ma as-salaama.