Apparently, "preparing the apartment for the arrival of my parents" really meant rearranging the crap piled under my mattress to make it a bit less...well...a bit more... how it's supposed to be.

this is not actual update, for there are many things worth updating about and the inconvienence of final exams to tend to first. but my newest roomate just started this list and it was simply too funny to not post immediately. enjoy.

you know you have adjusted to living in cairo when...
1. you stop converting to US dollars, and therefore find a 25LE meal wicked expensive.
2. all the places that deliver food have you in their database.
3. you stop noticing the heaping piles of garbage on the sides of the street.
4. the Costa Coffee staff knows you name and what you want before you order.
5. you start thinking American cops are puny because they don't have AK47s.
6. you stop being picky about cleanliness of your food and choice of resteraunt.
7. 5LE (1 dollar) seems like an unjustifiable expense for koshary when there is felafel for 50piasters (50cents) on the next corner.
8. you blow your nose and the kleenex is black.
9. you feel like the videogame Frogger while crossing the street.
10. you say "laa" (no) and "iowa" (yes) and "inshaAllah" and "bes" (but) when you are speaking English.
11. you become nonchalant about flies and fruit.
12. young people of different sexes holding hands in the street seems kind of scandelous.
13. rain seems to inhibit life from running normally.
14. you stop being suprised when your "tan" washes off in the shower.
15. you wake up, or are simply alarmed, when cars STOP honking their horns.
16. you start wondering which headscarf would look best on you.
17, you see a dollar in your drawer and think, "what's that?"
18. you're suprised when the sky is blue.
19. you become deeply excited when you find a star or two in the night sky.
20. you want to cover "half-naked" tourists walking down the street.
21. stray cats, bats, beetles, and rats are considered local wild life.
22. you're confused when you walk into a grochery store with aisles.
23. you see a rooftop without trash piled high or impromtu shacks or tons of dusty satelite dishes and wonder what's wrong with the building.
24. you are suprised by freshly-painted, and therefore clean, buildings.
25. you think the US is mean for limiting how many employees can work in any giving business.
26. you see a political protest and wonder why the police haven't arrive yet.
27. you see a political protest of approximately 50 people and aren't suprised to see three times as many police officers.
28. you start recognizing the random people on the street, like men at the makeshift tama3a breakfast stands, the kleenex women, and the other "usual street folk" who share your daily routes.
29. you stop using a watch because the daily calls to prayer let you know what time it is.
30. you're no longer concerned about you're hair falling out.
31. you laugh and ask 'why?' when people tell you not to drink the tap water.
32. you're suprised when electronics work, or a probem is fixed within an hour, or something happens on time.
33. having a bigMac or mochaLatte delivered to your door no longer seems lazy or exotic.

and some personal additions...

34. when "fi aie?" and "aie da?" rolls off your tongue quickly and without thinking if you encounter reckless drivers, tempestuous metro riders, or perverted men on the street.
35. "yanni" finds its way into your daily lexicon.
36. when a problem arises, you scan your cellphone for relevant "contacts"
37. sleeping in on a sunday seems weird.
38. you stop asking what the cost is and just give the the taksi driver or store clerk your money with a pleasant 'ma3salama'
39. waking up before 8a or sleeping before midnight seems absurdly early.
40. the tinyest discrepancy becomes a community controvery or passionate argument.
41. western music is a treat to your ears and makes you feel rebellious.
42. you wonder when you can buy a najar or burqua.
43. people washing "their concrete" no longer seems weird.
44. the phrase "non-smoking section" provokes thoughts like, "impossible - really?"
45. you can bargain the vendors at theKhan down by 100s.

scrutinizing the difference between 'western human interaction' and its arab counterpart has been a trend in my time here, and ruminating about the limited facility to express the whole idea of love in the arabic language has been the hot topic of late. today i encountered the best example. my parents got me a 12-language pocket translator for christmas (thanks!) and while avoiding studying today i was browsing thru the italian phrases for my upcoming adventure. i found one catergory deep in the 'emotions' subcatergory of the 'conversational phases' section called "expressions of love". i continued to scroll past phrases like (i kid you not), "shall we dance together?" "you're eyes are very beautiful", "shall we go to the resteraunt together?", "shall we go to the hotel together?", to "i have never seen a girl as sexy as you" in italian. finding this absolutely hysterical that someone could actually use this little device to get laid while travelling, i switched over to the french mode to test the machine's accuracy. much to my suprise, the phrases translated almost perfectly, save the use of formal pronouns. out of curiousity, i switch to the arabic mode and i found:
"it is really nice to meet you".
one, single, poorly-translated phrase in place of the dozen or so available in the romance languages (perhaps i understand this name better now). hahahahahaah. priceless.

Life (not just for me, but for everyone around me) lately has been like a sinusoidal graph with lots of complicated variables. Everything is making positive progression, but it seems lots of problematic outliers are decorating our domain.

Our flat got broken into and while nothing of importance was taken and there was no genuine risk at hand, it is still uncomfortable to know that our safety was second guessed. Ali and Amanda had an even more alarming encounter in their building and we agree that there is a BIG difference between questionable safety on the streets or while traveling and questionable safety in your own home. In retrospect, the story is kind of funny: One of the roof-dwelling children managed to remove the steel bar on the inside of our kitchen door (how I still have NO idea) and proceeded to take a bottle of Sasha’s perfume and her broken cell phone, and leave a cat in our living room. After several hours of detective-style hypothesizing, the assistance of Mai, our landlord, and Sameh, and several sharp conversations in Arabic that were lost in translation and coated with incompatible social norms, we now have a lovely padlock on our kitchen door and a returned - albeit critical - sense of security.Unfortunately, the mini-robbery ordeal will simply be added to the subconcious collection of antiEgypt thoughts that we pile in the back of our minds.

When I first got to Egypt I met with an AUC friend who studied at AU last year and I asked her to give me advice. She said DEFINITELY stay for a year. Her explaination was that Fall semester students arrive and right when they start to adjust, Ramandan comes and unroots their fragile sense of normalcy, then once they've become accustomed to Ramandan schedule, it ends and they are thrust into a different scedule, and once they readjust to that it seems the stress of midterms final exams and the inevitable homesickness from western hoildays magnifiy moments of helplessness or frustration with Cairo, either based on language or gender or trival details. So, they are stoked to get home and leave Egypt on a bad note. Whereas full-year students follow the same pattern, but have four more months to decipher their frustrations and overcome helplessness, ultimately leaving Egypt with a bit more appreciation to be American but tons of happy memories and plans to return to masr gameela when possible. I thank her now for her advice that has proven to be impeccably true. While we - including myself! - are all irrationally excited for visits home or at least Europe - we will miss our humble cairene abodes and happily return to our quirky little lifestyles in february.

And on a similar tangent of advice... Over tea with Madison in our kitchen the other night, I came up with a brilliantly simple but really rewarding idea. I realized most of the study abroad students have hiLARious stories - some bizzarre, some unbeilivable, some distrubing, some that simply epitomize the 'clash of cultures', and it's a shame to let this stories linger between small groups of friends or hidden in blogs. SO! I am going to create (with the help, inshaallah, of other study abroad folk) an anthropology of anecdotes about living in Cairo. Since I am taking a Creative Writing course (in rebellion of traditional requirements and much to the chagrin of my advisors, i'm sure) i will have time to play with it and it won't be considered procrastination anymore! The chapters thus far include...

upon arrival. hijinks of living in a cairene apartment. traffic and taxis. how many times a week it is possible to eat koshary. getting to Upper Egypt. Khan alKhalili and other misadventures in bargaining. having tits in cairo. Ramadan 101. Lost in translation. you know you miss the US, when... Being Smitten in Egypt. Somewhere between tourist and local. and... Only in Egypt.


Who knows what will come out of it, but I'm stoked.

Annnnd - of course! - there are the impending travel plans that dance along the not-so-far-away horizon. Boast not about tomorrow, for we never know what a day may bring... But, inshaAllah, an adventure to Upper Egypt to the Sinai and then to Alexandria awaits my parents and I, but only after 10 days in Italy and New Year's Eve in Paris with my ro7i gameel! I am too lucky, alhamdulila.

ali: did you just go to the bathroom?
me: yep. there is toilet paper.
ali: awesome
(you know you have grown accustomed to living in cairo when the prescence of toilet paper in public bathroom suprises you slightly, but also brings you joy)

sasha: you know, we've got mohammed at the register and ahmed on the phone and the christian guy in the back trying to find the box...
(one brief moment in a hysterical diatriable about the inefficacy of stores in Cairo, lol)

Ahlan ya December, and the pre-finals blog paralysis that comes with it...

@Costa:
me: why did you chose to study in Cairo?
sash: to study Islam in a traditional environment, ironically.
me: hah. ooh the things we wish for.
sash: yea but this isn't traditional. this is hyperpsychotic gender, race, and class stratification.

@Ali's Image Pharmacy:
man: thilatha wa nus
me: mashy. lazem...bank... (proceed to explain that i'll be right back in broken arabish)
man: (understands but seems confused) mashy.
(several minutes later, i return and hand the man 350 pounds, which is like $60, to which he responded with a huuuuuuge fit of laughter and said)
man: thilatha wa nus. mish thitha mia wa nus!
me: laa-aa!
man: iowa. three and half pounds.
me: fil mish mish!
man: haha, you were going to pay 350 pounds?
me: min amrika, da grali awi...
man: hahaha.... good bye, come again...haha.
me: masalama (feeling like such an idiot)

Last weekend was bliss. I went camping at an eco-friendly, beduoin-style outcove between Nuweiba and Taba in the Gulf of Aqaba called Basata and it was, quite simply, a small peice of paradise on earth. Accomodations at Basata range from little bungalows made of bamboo to mere roofs. We opted for the simplest of pleasures: a tent on the beach. I unzipped my weekend abode on Friday morning to see the Red Sea shining at me only a few meters in the distance. Mmmm....

Before arriving to Basata, Sameh and I went diving in Dahab... the cherished Canyon and Bell's Blue Hole again. At Basata, we danced between naps on the beach and experimental cooking, took a quick climb up cliff and simply enjoyed the passing of time. And it's always comforting to be in a new place with someone who makes you feel so entirely yourself...

While I haven't seen the entirety of Egypt yet, and may never see all of it, I think she may be the most beautiful country in the world. The desert is infinitely alluring to me. There is something so classic and beautiful, yet harsh and unforgiving about it. The landscape at Basata and Dahab always empitomizes what I think of when I hear the word Bedoin: ruggedly beautiful and tranquil in its boldness. Last night Ali, Amanda, 3ly, and Mohammad and I went hourseback riding near the pryamids and Ali and I searched for words to express the timelessness of the Sahara. It's imposssible to capture the beauty of the desert at night with a camera, so I hardly have any photos, but something about the moonlight shining down on an endless tide of sundunes and the echo of horsehoves puts a little bit of peace in my soul, hehe. If I am destined to have a mid-life crisis, I think the resolution of it will be found somewhere between Egypt and Libya on a journey into the desert...

Every time I go to teach in Mar Girgis on Monday nights, I revel in nostalgia for the civility of the DC metro. One day I want to identify the source of the unspoken agreement that exists between metro patrons in American cities that people get off the train before the people on the platform get on the train. Unlike the harmonious “doors open, passengers disembark, passengers board, doors chime and then usually close” scenario I’m used to, the Cairo metro experience is far more chaotic: As the train draws near the crowd of women waiting for the all-women’s car (sidenote: this is an option, not a requirement, and I choose to take it for humor rather comfort because the co-ed-a.k.a-male-dominated cars are actually more bearable but they smell bad) begin pushing towards the approaching doors. During the brief moment when the train is stopped but the doors have not yet opened, the women inside the car show faces of determination and the women on the platform squeeze as close as possible to the glass with equally resolute expressions. When the doors open each huddled mass pushes in the direction of their desire with equal force, allowing only a lucky few on the fringes to sneak through towards the edge of the door. After a moment of stagnation, the momentum of the crowd exiting seems to triumph for a moment, but their space is instantly usurped by the crowd entering. Once I actually closed my eyes while getting on the metro (out of frustration with the various women pushing and proding me) and this method has proven to be the easiest and least painful for boarding.

Today during this dance I witnessed what was perhaps the cross-cultural highlight of my experiences abroad thus far….

A tall, elderly British woman was being cordially escorted (read: pushed helplessly through the doors) by the crowd into the already full car and after a few huffs and puffs calmly but loudly cried, “Stop pushing madam!” towards a particularly aggressive Egyptian woman. This woman, who had a full shopping bag on her head, took this as an opportunity to push the British woman intentionally. In reaction, the ladyBrit uttered, “Ugh! You are preposterous!” and dusted the other woman’s apparently uncivilized touch from her shirt. The shopping-bag-crowned women gave her another light push and then preceeded farther into the car, shouting “hiya magnooona, wallahy!” as she disappeared into the mass of scarves. I stood there sipping my coffee to hide the enormous grin across my face. What was weird was that this poor British woman seemed to radiate a need for empathy or at least a need for some sort of confirmation that she was not actually crazy…But I couldn’t give it to her. When her frazzled glance passed over me, she saw nothing but another metro-bitch.
I felt in this moment so invisible it was almost nice.

Of course, every positive situation has its negative counterpart in the karmic realm, and before arriving to the platform I got my share of cultural frustration. I approached the ticket window to tuck my dirty 1 pound bill into the tray and mouthed a polite ‘ahlan’ to the ticket vender. This gesture of recognition gives me a way as a foreigner every time as most people don’t even make eye contact with the cranky ticket guy as they cram their piasters under the glass. Nevertheless, I continue to do it with hopes that it might in some insignificant way make the cairo metro a more pleasant place. Tonite my naive courtesy was met with this slime-of-the-earth-ticket-guy looking up from his little pile of tickets to toy with the foolish tourist: he held the ticket up, as if questioning my intention for giving him the money, I raised my eyebrows and nodded slightly thinking no duh, jerk. He then placed the ticket near the finger-print-marked glass and waited for me to reach for it like a mindless animal. I humored him and added another finger print to the glass. He laughed and then placed the ticket into the tray. As I took the ticket he continued to hold it as if I was a dog pulling at a chew toy. I looked daggers at him and whispered “Fi ay?” His bewilderment with my surprisingly-local reaction forced him to let go of the ticket and I walked towards the platform brewing up a little storm in my mind… You win some, you lose some.

I’m not sure if unconditional love exists in the Arab world. Most sub-par societal relations (especially between men and women) are mistakenly attributed to Islam, but this is one that may actually ring true. I haven’t fully gathered my thoughts on the matter, but the concept of conditionality and companionship seem intimately intertwined based on my experiences here. I base my observations from the Qu’ran, person experience, and stories from the lovely ladies in my life who have “been there and done that” along the Arab/Muslim dating scene in a particularly jaded or cynical fashion. All I can safely conclude is unconditional feelings are far more natural in a modern secular society than a society infused with one main religious dogma. Is this because humans may actually be incapable of unconditional feelings? Is this because society is more stable and predictable with conditions and expectations? Is this because conditions ensure obedient behavior? Obedience, to me, is a tricky word - along with submission and conditions. There is some point at which these words become, what D.H Lawrence would consider, anti-Life (Lawrence, a deeply spititual dude, argues there is no sin, simply things we do that limit life and things we do that enhance life). At what point does obedience to each other become dominance over one another? At what point does submission change from an act of humility to an act of idiocy? At what point do conditions terrify us out of being ourselves? These thoughts need not be entertained more than momentarily, but still seemed worth noting. I am only stuck on this “unconditional feelings” idea because I learned a new word in Arabic this week عميق, ameeq. It means ‘deep’, like deeeeeeeeeep. And I think it is these unconditional feelings (rooted somewhere deeeeeeep in our souls) that lead us to what the Greeks refered to as ‘human eudaimonia’, or human flourishing, which – no matter where you’re from or how you identify yourself – is probably the point of all our little efforts on this planet. So here’s to human flourishing and unconditional feelings and a weekend-much-needed….alHamdulila, It’s Thursday! And almost TGIF, for my readers across the Atlantic.

Although I am well passed the "withdrawl/lonliness" stage of "cultural adjustment", according to the official diagram i am currently suffering "culture shock". neat.

"culture shock" is characterized by, but as i will argue momentarily, not limited to

- homesickness - boredom - lethargy - withdrawal

- irritability - hostility toward local people - irrational anger - excessive sleeping

i am craving crisp sidewalk strolls along a logical street in some bustling, american metropolis...with the sweet sound of english whispering into my ears and the approximation of fresh air nipping at my nose.

impending due dates and mounting responsibilities can't shake the veil of boredom i view my academic days through. thoughts of european adventures and my parents visiting still spice up the day generally, though.

i torment the men who look at me while i walk down the street by staring straight back. i get offended when people talk to me in english if i speak in arabic. and i also get offended when they speak entirely in arabic or tell me my arabic is good, for no reason at all. so by process of elimination, that might mean every unfamilliar person who speaks to me in arabic or english frustrates me. at least its only the unfamiliar ones.

i am not angry (probably due to fatigue, eternal optimism, and a deeply-seated desire to not be a violent person) but i did spend 2/3 of last Thursday in bed and most of the weekend in a sedentary state, so i think that covers the rest of the bases.

so, you figure any advice offered from a culture-shock-ridden mind is bound to be the most cynical and unforgiving advice possible? thus, my readers venturing to cairo this week or next semester, take this with a very large spoonful of sugar...cairene culture shock is distinct in the following ways,

you may experience an internal conflict about the concept of Egypt being in Africa. Political instability, widespread disease, and government corruption aside, Africa (not that I’ve really experienced it or anything) represents to me a society based on something deeper. A society where people still group together by something more meaningful than political views or religious dogma. A society of people with a more enlightened appreciation for time..and earth… and a lack-of-clothing. Sometimes I think the concept of Africa simultaneously brings forth ideas of true justice and injustice. I am listening to Angelique Kido so it is possible my entire view of Africa at the moment is informed by tranquil acoustic guitar, naturalistic percussion and bluesy-folk-lyrics… the point is, any evidence that Egypt is the richest (or second richest if I have underestimated South Africa) country in Africa doesn’t seem to nudge Egypt into, I dunno, fixing what the western colonial powers effed up about its continent for anyone other than itself. Egypt, the mother of the civilization, is seeming a little more like a selfish little child.

another internal conflict you might encounter is that about clothing.

“… it’s because people like to be able to judge a person by the way they look here…. It’s not like that in the US. I mean, you could be a really religious person in America and wear a tank top.”

Indeed, the US has a unchallenged monopoly on superficiality (I think of the line from Before Sunset when Celine says, “I miss the overall happiness of people in the States, even if it’s bullshit sometimes, “How are you today? Great! Great! Have a great day!””) but at least we spare appearance or dress any judgemental superficiality. I guarantee you - give it a week, give it a month, give it an hour – you will critically ask yourself when you get dressed in the morning, “do I want to look nice today, or do I want to be respected”. But be warned, the days you opt for ugliness, an even lower level of social-worth may ensue.

[ continuation pending ]

Well, Hello, Sunday. You’ve finally crawled out of the mess of introspection, girly talk, and procrastination that decorated the weekend. In the last 12 hours, I maganged to pull together a fairly logical major-life-decisions flow chart, a critical evaluation of the possibility of Islamic states in the late 21st century using sudan, iran, and egypt as case studie, a critical review of 7th century texts detailing the shi'i versus sunni stance on legitimate succession of the caliphate, correct more than half my exams for LAMB, and pleasure write whenever I felt inclined to do so. There is indeed a God, who is indeed merciful, and may have slowed the spinning of the moon a bit for me tonight. I am slowly growing used to the idea of “painful Sunday mornings” and “alhamduilia It’s Thursday”s as opposed to the “Pancake Sundays,” and TGIF’s

i am sitting at Costa and the setting-sun has left a gloomy depressing tinge of grey outside the windows. A mix of 80's love songs and spicy-sultry tango music is playing and I’ve got FionaApple playing on repeat...It might be the melancholy overcast and chilly temperatures, but something about this weekend has made me think of Philadelphia. I really want to be in Philadelphia. My mind seems really far away from Cairo. In fact, my mind seems far away generally. Small moments of triumph in my otherwise underproductive weekend:

I ventured onto Otlob.com and had a McArabia, fries, and carmel Sunday delivered to Amanda and Ali’s door. Only in Egypt with McDonald’s deliver….

I sorted, deleted, and replied to almost 2000 emails that were clogging my gmail account and now have an empty inbox.

I reacquainted myself with Luc Poignet and Maxwell Garb, the only two protagonists I’ve written that show any promise to transform themselves into works of polish fiction.

I've added a counter to this blog so that I can be reassured people do indeed visit it and it is not merely a tool of procrastination.

Last night I tagged along with Sameh to run his errands in masrGedidah. Given the recent revelation that dating and engagement are practically interchangeable in Egypt, we were having a pretty heated little conversation of difference…amidst the conversational frenzy and, of course, the reckless drivers, we passed a routine check-point and noticed the policeman in the rear-view shouting “iowa” and flagging Sameh’s car. Sameh looked around to see what could have prompted it and then whispered, “effff… seatbelt” – “I’m the one always going wearing my seatbelt but the onnnnne time- ” he clinched his teeth and rolled down the window. His face lit up and he instantly began wordsmithing the officer, making him laugh and look mischievously to the side. The officer took his ID card and walked away for a moment. The shine in Sameh’s face faded and he started digging through his wallet … “I need money – not that much money –ah money money money” he fished into his pockets while I asked him “how much will it cost you?” and he shuffled out a few twenty and five pound notes from his pocket. “It will cost me my license,” he kept a 20note and tossed the other bills towards me, “now you keep this. OooooK,” his game face was on again. The men stood at the corner, dancing in conversation, looking from the ID card to one another to the car to the ID card... I’ve seen so many Arab men of all ages and nationalities participate in this elaborate demonstration of group negotiation so many times that I feel comfortable stereotyping the situation: If a decision must be made among the group at hand, first everyone (usually the divers of each car but sometimes all the men in the group) must exit their vehicle in order to discuss the issue in neutral territory. Preferably this area should be visible by each car and the remaining audience. Next each participant must initiate the lengthy Arabesque introductions: SalamwaAlaikum waAlaikum salam(indecipherable)Barakat…ezzayak? Akhbarak ay? Kulutamam. Enta 3ml ay? alHamdulila, alHamdulila…Following the requisite greetings, the men begin outlining the decisions to the made, this point in the conversation is characterized by contemplative glances towards each car, troubled looks at their watches, and needless scrolling through their cell phone contacts. At this point, by-standers can tell that the first possible solution has presented itself. Tasks are delegated and a few of the men begin speaking on their mobile phones (Note: their phone conversations repeat the greetings and inductions of the preceding conversation). The remaining men in the group put themselves at ease and begin light conversation of life generally. When the mobile-delegates finish their phone calls they will momentarily tangent away from the task at hand in order to acquaint themselves with these conversations. If stagnation ensues, any men remaining in the cars join the mission at the negotiation area as if they are a reserve army of decision-makers. In efficient situations, this prompts the initial decision-makers to disperse the plan to each car immediately. In a less effective situation, this prompts the greetings and introductions again and then requires a full briefing of what solutions are being considered. Eventually someone receives a phone call and the decision appears to be made. The men disperse back to their cars, save the two primary decision-makers in the negotioation, but none show any expression of triumph or clarity. Everyone waits in the cars until the two decision-makers still in the field shake one another’s hands, laugh loudly, or receive a phone call. At this point they will proudly inform everyone, yallah. I have given this distinct social practice of ‘male-domincated group negotiation’ a nifty nickname to facilitate its use in daily conversation: Comparing penis-length.

When Sameh returned to the car, he fastened his seatbelt, tucked his ID safely into his wallet, turned to me and laughed “twenty pounds.” Aaaaaaaaaah, so that’s how corruption works, I thought. “It doesn’t always work…” he said. Mmm… fil mish mish, I thought.

Two very disappointing moments of this week:

1. I feel foolish for laughing at the posh AUC students who wore peacoats and boots last week, as I am currently feening for my winter clothes packed tightly in boxes an ocean away. Forget the misconcept of a "chilly" season, it's flat out crisp by MidAtlantic standards and COLD from my southernCalifornian mentality.
2. FusHa is not only relatively useless, but theoretically impossible. In class yesterday Dr.Tonsi says, "you know when I read in Arabic there are dozens of words I don't know...this is why we have to memorize the reticles, so we can guess." Remind me again, why I should have any hope of learning Arabic when a native speaker and language teacher can't even be sure of the meanings? Bizopt! It's hopeless.

On a more uplifting note: Minor faux-pas and inevitable quirks aside, our new apartment is exactly what I had hoped for and imagined when I thought about myself living in Cairo. It is just very... right.
This weekend will be filled with homework and studying and research papers and a valliant attempt to decipher Arabic reticles and verb forms because the following adventures decorate the not-so-distant horizon:
The ancient Roman ruins at Petra. Located convinently in the Middle of Nowhere in Southern Jordan, we're plotting a visit via Nuweiba during Thansgiving break. We'll take the ferry from Nuweiba and manage dirty-backpack style to a hostel near Petra and then thank God for the cooler weather as we make a 3-mile hike into the gorgeous canyon the ruins are situated in.

A quick visit to Israel&Palestine to meet up with some AU folk and permanently taint my US passport with an Israeli stamp...Looks like Lebanon and Saudi won't be on my travel itinerary anytime soon, but the Dome of the Rock and Jerusalem will be.

The actual logistics of getting to and from these places is still a bit hazy and will undoubtedly provide hidden underestimated visa fees and very long, uncomfortable bus rides. prende la vie comme il vient... and pack lightly, i suppose.

This was one of the nicest weekends I have had in Cairo. A weekend full of firsts and new things.

The highlight, of course, a new apartment! Everything just seems more right with this apartment than the last, and it is literally a 3-minute walk from AUC campus. mmmm. high ceilings. balconies. a functioning shower and windows and floors that -inshaAllah - will remain entact. Also, the bowab is discrete and unintrusive and we have a very good repoire with the owner. I will have to work really hard about being quiet in the hallways, though, as my laughter while hauling luggage upstairs yesterday drew old Egyptian woman from their flats crying "fiii aay?" (what's going on?). It's my goal for Sasha and I to be known to our new neighbots as "those lovely American girls we never see or hear" and NOT as "those scandelous American ladies bring boys over late at night and laughing like they're drunken at 10am". Long-term life viablity in Egypt is seriously compromised by the sheer volume of my voice and laughter, a fact that I will adjust accordingly but refuse to change. Also, my bed (aka: wood frame with thin pseudo-cotton mat upon it) is awful in comparison my blissfully-comfortable bed at the AbdelHamidSaid place. Nothing an investment in a comforter can't solve.

This weekend was my first time to ride a motorcycle, but more impressively, a motorcycle on crazy cairene streets. Traffic is one of the things that makes Cairo distinctly Cairo, and even though I have already mentioned this repeatedly, I can’t pass up the opportunity to exaggerate the point again. My feelings about traffic, traffic police, and the general idea of traversing the city has been expanded since having the opportunity to maneuver through cars seated on a motorcycle, instead of safely and ignorantly in the backseat of a taksi. On a motorcycle you function both as a pedestrian and an automobile, more on that in a moment….

Unemployment is not high in Egypt, but then again, some of the “employed” people don’t seem to do much in terms of employment. Traffic police are my prime proof of this observation as they seem to stand unbeknownst of the driving no-nos and traffic pandemonium that ensues most streets of Cairo most hours of the day. My observations can be broken into three basic principles:

1. Speed is relative. It seems each driver is outfitted with their own personal speed limit depending on how fast it is possible for them to go at any given moment. Thus, while driving from Cairo to Alexandria, or any long distance from Cairo, an average of 140-180km/hr is not abnormal: Roads are straight, relatively uncrowded, and there is no reason (ie: traffic jams, police, or checkpoints) to suggest anything less than peak speed. Inner-city driving applies to this same principle, too. Many drivers I have been with seem to see any space between themselves and the car in front of them as a sign that they are not going as fast as possible. Should space be available, it must be taken. Sometimes I think space is a currency and people here are simultaneous greedy and giving. Greedy because traffic is a constant battle for space, yet giving because no one seems uncomfortable or unwilling to let other eagerly encroach upon theirs.
2. Rules are also relative and do not apply more often then they do apply. One-way streets are only one-way when it is impossible to traverse them in the prohibited direction. Traffic lights (rare) are secondary signals of when to go and when not to stop, as the ability to go is more important than if you are allowed to or not.
3. Pedestrians are crazier than drivers. I now return to the feeling of being both a pedestrian and a driver while on a motorcycle… You have the flexibility of a pedestrian to wade between cars, but the luxury of doing at a fast pace like the cars. Sidewalks are irrelevant. Pedestrians have free reign of any space not occupied by a car. In a motorcycle, the same rule applies: if you can fit, you can go. The public buses have no official stops, as far as I can tell, but instead when traffic forces them to slow down men jump to and from the doors. It is not uncommon to see a man dash between cars to hop aboard a public bus, nor for a man to appear spontaneously infront of your car, having just exited a bus mid-traffic.

Last rule: you cannot just be seen, but you must also be heard. This requires any driver to be well-versed in the multiplicity of honks used on the street. I sometimes think pedestrians should be outfitted with their own horns. Honking is not limited to cars, however, as deliverymen use wrenches to clank the tanks of milk perched on their bicycles as “horns” and the men and women who wade through traffic with large crates of balady bread upon their heads use their voice as a “horn” too.

Well, where to begin?? I think this post will be far too long for one sitting, so I’ve provided handy subtitles to facilitate re-visits in case you become bored, distracted, or short on time.

diving & theFeast. Dahab is a former Beduoin fishing village situated on the south-eastern coast of the Sinai across the Red Sea from Saudi Arabia. The town is still obviously Bedouin and seems exude the word CHILL. Even the architecture seems to whisper 'ease'. It felt sinful to be anything less than carefree and content. As one of Sinai’s most treasured diving destinations, it is no surprise that diving atDahab was excellent. The Canyon was probably the highlight, although a few moments near the surface of the Blue Hole also stand out in my mind. The Canyon is mind-blowingly beautiful! The dive begins with a 25m decent down a pseudo-tunnel (imagine: one of those glass elevators in hotels, except sides made of rock and under the sea), then you tour a gorgeous wall reef, and pop into this opening between rocks and find yourself in a HUGE open area, hence the “canyon” the site is named for, evantually popping you out at 14 meters. Amaaazzzzing. I should never have started diving, hah! This trip prompted the long-term viability of my scuba obsession of late. I am thinking about getting my own equiptment and have already researched the diving near DC. FYI: kickin’ wreck dives near Anapolis...

In Sharm I stayed with a friend-of-a-friend, Eloise. She’s Welsh and has been living in Egypt as a scuba instructor for nearly two years. She is absolutely crazy, and therefore inherently interesting and enlightening. I can’t express just how much of a pleasure it was to sit and speak sophisticated English, too!!! Using four-syllable words and idiom nearly induced linguistic orgasm.

AUCness. A series of events - utter saddness that there is no VaginaMonologues at AUC, a fabulous group project for my political economy class, overflowing class discussions -have led me to venture into AUC as if I am actually a student here and not just a girl who wanders into and out of buildings with textbooks. I have my interview for the Model United Nations council next week and have buddied up with the ladies of the Bussy Project - a feminist group on campus - with hopes of planning a pseudo-VaginaMonologues shindig later in the spring. Suprising and appreciated.

Also, I was talking with an Austian girl in my anthro class and she had the most refreshingly-jaded way of talking about travel and study. She has short spikey hair and seems always to look like she has just rolled out of bed or is coming straight from a night-long rock concert. Once in response Dr.Zaki’s inquiry about her abscent she replied in her thick Austia accent, “asifa I was in court for the day”. Nevertheless, during break from the epic 3-hour class today she was talking about how people tend to get stuck in Egypt. I laughed and said I think I currently am! After further chitchat I learned that she had previously “gotten stuck” in Columbia, Costa Rica and the greater part of the Carribbean. I love how the combination of travel and study creates such ambiguity about where you’re from or where you live or even where you are going. I was impressed by her, like Greg’s, indifference towards orthodox living and the arbitrary framework of 4-year stints in schooling, physical mailing addresses, and societal expectations (I am brave and seize any opportunity to deviate from the boring 4-year plan norm , but not this brave). Travel and study lately has brewed several mini-diatribes about politics and democracy and America and Islam and a whole slew of pseudo-intellectual thoughts. An update on those when they are more ripe.

the Talat Harb hassasment incidents.

"Hey Sash ," I called from the light-less bathroom, "what do you miss most about the States?"
"Hmmm..." she said from her bedroom, which has a floor in revolt of the glue that holds it down by the way, "being able to be secular..."
"aOaw" (<-- this is a disconcernable sound made in Egyptian Arabic that is kind of an AW and kind of an OW and entirely unpleasant sounding so matter how agreeable it is intended to sound) "...and walking down the streets without men talking to me" she continued "hah. yea" "You think i am kidding but really, I miss being able to walk around unbothered... what about you?" "privacy" "hah. yea"

And now for an unavoidable that seems to have been pretty well avoided. There was… for lack of a better phrase… a rape riot downtown the first day of Eid when I was out of town. If you want to know what "rape riot" or "harrassment incidents" means it’s a tricky situation. Arab (not just Egyptian) news media refuses to cover the ordeal from last week, and the Egyptian police have crafted a story of indifference, leaving first-hand accounts from bloggers and questionable hearsay as the only sources of information…. Neither of which cant be trusted entirely. Basically, a large group of men became angry at a movie theater downtown and proceeded to take their anger out on the cinema and then every female within a 2-block radius. The riot lasted, unabated by the police - who are always present and plenty in number - for nearly 5 hours. I don't want to write about this - perhaps I am in shock or just hopeless disgust - but please read about it for yourself if you are interested. The point is, Cairo, and perhaps Egypt or the Arab world as a whole, is a sexually frustrated society with patriarchal norms. Some event occurred within this catalyst that led to an infringement on people's safety and women’s privacy. Regardless of the extent to which it was “serious” or “normal” no one – save the Cairene elites, concerned foreigners, and independent journalists – is talking about it! Ay da?! This blogger puts my thoughts better than I can, so I'll leave it to him.

On a slightly happier note: Sasha and I move into our new apartment on Saturday morning and many exciting travels dance along the horizon.

"When you arise in the morning, think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive - to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love."

Marcus Aurelius, Roman Emperor and exquisite philosopher, has long held a special place in my psyche for that quote alone, but after delving into some of his other tidbits this evening i am driven to share:

Adapt yourself to the things among which your lot has been cast and love sincerely the fellow creatures with whom destiny has ordained that you shall live.

Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth.

How much time he saves who does not look to see what his neighbor says or does or thinks.

It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live.

Look back over the past, with its changing empires that rose and fell, and you can foresee the future, too.

Men exist for the sake of one another.

Nowhere can man find a quieter or more untroubled retreat than in his own soul.

The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane.

The sexual embrace can only be compared with music and with prayer.

Time is a sort of river of passing events, and strong is its current; no sooner is a thing brought to sight than it is swept by and another takes its place, and this too will be swept away.

This weekend reminded me of Thanksgiving. Usually during Thanksgiving break all my friends scatter off to be with family and I stay in the District to enjoy a few responsibility-free days of unplanned pleasure to catch up on school work and simply feel time pass. That is exactly what I’ve been doing. Thursday night I went to my friend Amirah’s house for iftar and enjoyed grilled, stuffed pigeons for the second time. While I was waiting for 3li to pick me up for Taraweeh I was sitting outside her building and an old man with an apartment on the 1^st floor leaned out his window and offered me tea. After a little persuasion and broken conversation in arabic I agreed, he disappeared into his house, returned a few minutes later and handed me a cup of well-sugared tea, wished me a happy Ramadan and disappeared back into his home. Before I left he introduced his beautiful grandchildren to me and took back the cup. It is moments like this that make me really, really love Egypt and its quirky people....

Friday I spent all day in bed flipping thru travel guides between naps. And then in the evening met up with Sameh and we chilled felucca-style on the Nile with Noura and their friend Yasser.

Today’s challenge was supposed to finding a new apartment but I failed at that. It's stressing me out, but weather is too nice and the city's atmosphere too joyful for me to genuinely feel discouraged. Perhaps after 'Eid I'll have a refreshed perspective and will to find something. On a happier note: I’ve gotten all my post-midterm textbooks and am enthusiastically nusring the academic flame that was rekindled last week. Perhaps I won't taint my transcript with mediocrity afterall, inshaAllah.

Tomorrow I leave for Dahab, in the Sinai across the gulf of Aqaba from Saudia Arabia, and I couldn't be happier. I have to work in the evening, so I won't be able to take the bus with the other divers *feigned innocent disappointment* and instead I get to be co-pilot and drive with Sameh. Hopefully a detour to Sharm elSheik or St. Catherine's Monastary will decorate the drive?

I am repeatedly impressed by AUC students ability to sit in the most incontinent of locations. It is not uncommon to have a dozen girls sitting at the foot of a stair case simply chilling, usually with sourpuss looks on their faces and cigarettes in hand. Other times, it is a girl and her boyfriend sitting just far enough a part and centered on the stair so perfectly that it is infuckingpossible to continue up the stairs without some awkward moment where you interrupt their conversation and they make you feel invasive for – heaven forbid – going to class. The quirks of AUC campus bring me an odd comfort, but should I have not been blessed with such a lazy temperament and easily-entertained sense of humor, they would inspire nothing short of insanity. Nevertheless, the first rounds of mid-term exams has passed with far better results that expected (alHamdulila) and just one nominal day of classes (as nearly all international students are leaving tonite… Greg to Palestine, Amanda and Ali to Israel and Turkey, Sasha to Lebanon and Jordan…) stands between me and Eid alFitr break. Mmmm…

Well, it has officially reached that point in the academic semester where all those brief moments of mediocrity accumulate into massive moments of anxiety. It seems midterm exams wreak the same havoc on both sides of the atlantic…luckily, the end of Ramadan brings with it the end of the Islamic calendar and a much appreciated opportunity to makes some “new years” resolutions. Returning from a lovely 8-day vacation will be like turning a whole new page. Highlights include:

A re-discovered ambition to actually engage myself in my classes and coursework at AUC.

Last week our Arabic professor gave this long shpeal about how silly it was to study Arabic unless you wanted to master the language, not just talk showyya showyya. After he finished, I realized the same idea could go for all my classes: It seems that if my academic life is a baseball game, I’ve gotten four balls at bat and walked. I now have the choice to run for home or get tagged out. Home base, baby. Unfortunately two all-nighters, a paper, two midterms, and a realllllllllllly poorly-timed quiz are between me and this hopeful dash. Which means the remainder of this post will be short and lacking in any real wit or style, heh.

Sasha and I’s strategically-improved hunt for a new apartment...

Yes, shari3 abdel 7amid said has been lovely. But we are relocating in search of something far more ideal, slightly less invasive, and overall more structurally sound. AlHamdulila. I will wish the shisha-smoking, job-lacking, patriarchial-yet-respectful men that basically live outside our apartment goodbye with light-hearted enthusiasm. The toothless and eternally grateful bowab will be genuinely missed. Unfortunately, the comedy of errors blossomed into full and total chaos as our house is literally falling apart. We have decided to be exquisitely picky about our new abode: We’re looking for a gorgeous old European-style building and spacious balcony. We will have fully-functioning appliances and light fixtures that are securely fixed to the wall. A landlord that has some appreciation for written monthly bills rather than ball-parked estimates about the water and gas. We will remain in noisy-polluted-sketchy wistr alBalady (downtown) because the ease of rolling out of bed twenty minutes before class and not being late is too good to pass up, and the local falafel and ful shops are priceless. We’re also hoping to find another place up high in the building since our air is relatively fresh up there… but maybe this time around we will find something with a fire escape, hah. I am excited to wish the tempestuous bitch of a washing machine we have and the burden of handwashing our clothes ma3salama, too.

‘Eid and the mental-emotional feast that will come with it!

I’ll be heading to Marsa 3lam for the week to enjoy the Red Sea, daily diving, and the sweet company of Sameh and the other diving folks. Sameh (who may very easily be my divine complement) has become an inexhaustible source of joy to me! He might be a 6-year old boy trapped in the body of a grown man, but he also has some moments of insight that make me doubt any perceived childishness. The best part is when we hang out we frolic in our imagination; we’ve plotted the most amazing two-year world trek from San Fransisco to Sydney that deserves an entire post of its own. Eitherway, i splurged at the AUC bookstore for a colloquial egyptian text book, really fascinating Islamic gender thoery book called "Gender Jihad" and travel guide to Morrocco (hem, hem: chere Melyn in February!), so ‘Eid will be a week of sunshine and salt water, diving both into books and under the sea, punctuated by naps, good food, and whatever else finds me.

Some photos and my best wishes to anyone who reads this.

Not exactlty sure why, but this image to me sums up what walking around downtown at night feels like.

The aforementioned team sokar&shai, imagination-syle globetrotting extrodinaires.






Ali, Amanda' flatemate, who continues to impress me everyday with her mad organizational skills and passion for STAR Women's Classes and the amazing women we are teaching from Sudan, Ethiopia, Morrocco, and Iraq. Photos of them to come soon, momkin!









The Citadel from the corniche at Alexandria. Mmmmm.










This is my flatemate Sasha. If you see her, tell her to come home, I miss her. She has made aquaintance with a sweet-talking Palestinian-Jordanian guy who holds her hostage in his company mansion in Masr Gedidah. He will be her escort to Lebanon and Jordan while I am enjoying the serenity of the Red Sea. Which is more appealing: Touring war-torn Levantine countries versus sunsets and scuba diving...why is this decision so much harder than it sounds?

I am sitting in a Chili’s in Alexandria studying for the second of a long line of mid-term exams but instead decided to take this opportunity to enlighten my beloved blog-enthusiasts. Life as of late has been overwhelming but blissful. Last week Moodi tried to express to me that two key factors to the Egyptian psyche are high emotions and religiousity. Both of have which are growing more and more apparent as Ramadan reaches is height and a intimate friendships blossom with the fabulous Egyptians I’ve met.

Ben asked me to explain to him what it is like to be in a city where people are hungrary all day, and this is my attempt to describe the idiosyncracies of Ramadan and the month-long fast that comes with it. I’ve felt weird about writing about it, as if it had to finish before I could truly start to digest it, but here’s a first stab at it, if nothing else…

[ coming soon ]

This is Moodi. He works at the hostel Sasha stayed at when she arrived and has proved to be our local life-saver, see post about the shaming of the local grochery boy. He is from a village in the Nile Delta called Mufriyya, or something similar that I can't accurately pronounce, and it is where most of the Egyptian politicans come from. He invited me to his village last week for Iftar and I met his mother, who cooked for me the most amazing food! I think I liked meeting his youngest cousin best... I forgot his name, but his dad used to smoke his water pipe allllllll the time and would have him get the coals for him, so the poor little boy has been given the life-long nickname Shisha. Adorable, no? Check out my other blog for video clips of driving thru his village. I literally just held my camera out the window, so they are very poor quality and depict nothing in particular, but you can play "Only-in-Egypt 'I Spy'" with them... bonus points if you can accurately count the coffee/shisha places or spot the horse-drawn wagons amongst city buses and taksis.

Our lovely Amanda celebrated her 21st birthday on Greg's pimp rooftop apartment last week, too. The gathering was a soooooo nice, even though I was only there for a few minutes. It was cool to see the different clusters of people we know in the same spot at once: AUC graduate students, Aladin, Walid, Ramy and the rest of the Imbaba gang, our CairoUniversity boys, several of the SCUBAdivers, and even a tolken British guy (Greg's landlords extremely attractive son) to make the event truley cosmopolitian. Perhaps the happiest moment was the two seconds after we sang "Happy Birthday" to Amanda when the Egyptians began singing it in Arabic..."Sana helwa, ya gameela, sana helwa ya gameela...". Please note, Amanda is terrifically picky and in place of a proper cake, Ali is holding a tray of peanut-buttered apples with candles in the photo.

This is a verrrrrrrry blurry picture of Karim, Osama's buddy, and his Bulgarian ladyfriend and her beautiful daughter. I'm posting this photo just because Cafe Pasqua, Osama's local favorite and where this pic was taken, makes me feel like I am back in the Davenport back at AU... They play jazzy music and have chess boards and books lying around. There's also live Arabic music at night, to ensure I am indeed still inCairo.



It's getting chilly in Cairo!! In fact, at 4am when this photo was taken, I was actually COLD! When we were learning weather-related words in Arabic this week and I responded to a question about DC weather right now with words like HOT and HUMID I realized I was forgetting that time is passing back home too... It's deep into autumn there. I'm curious if depressing DC wintertime will be missed?





These are photos of the church I teach at on Monday nights... I still trip on how beautiful and odd Coptic Cairo is everytime I go there. I repeat what I said about florescent lighting and its intricate connection to all things religious here in Egypt.... Funny phrases from my classes this past week.

"Miss Aminah - I have a problem. When you speak, you're Ds sound like Ss, your Ls sound like Rs, and I do not hear your Rs at all. Bishwaaaaaysh, min fadlik!"

Student: "So, you mean it's a modifcation of the verb" Me: "uh...I guess so?" to be continued....

My messy room was kind of getting out of control. So when I got home last I proceeded to tidy-up like it was my sole mission in life. After starting the massive pile of laundry and sweeping under the bed I realized I had uncovered a few less tangible things that were kind of out of control. The past week or so has been decorated with subtle frustrations and blatant comments about how bad my Arabic is. I mean, the people who tell me this are my friends, of course – shop keepers and taksi drivers continue to insist I “bitakallam kwayyis”….but the people who know me and care about me and know how long I’ve been hear assure me, I suck at Arabic and supremely suck at Egyptian colloquial. but! I’ve figured out why picking up Arabic has been so difficult… Beyond the fact, fus-ha (modern standard) is USELESS outside of the classroom. The problem is, I am not thinking in Arabic. French was easy to learn because I was able to think in the language... I have yet to grasp an Arab mentality or psyche for myself. But in the last 24 hours I have committed myself to aquirering one, and things are already looking hopeful. I've forced myself to ask how to identify everything in the room if I am with a native speaker (and so my room and our apartment will become labeled like a lifesize picture dictionary, heh) and I forbid myself to complete simple tasks with English.

On a more exciting note, tonite was my first night teaching with STAR, an AUC organization that teaches Sudanese refugees... and it was really exciting. One of the women invited me to her home in Dokki for Iftar on Friday! On verra.

MashaAllah! My first day teaching at LAMB was the best teaching experience I’ve ever had! Things went smoother than a satin dress against a bottle of Greygoose… I got a photocopy of a text book last week and absolutely no preparation and training and I was the one teacher assigned to a class without a tutor or an assistant, so I was mildly nervous… the anxiety peaked when my supervisor told me my class was supposed to start at the same time as tonite’s Iftar and that it “would probably be ok” that I was wearing hijab and am not Christian, but “to be prepared for some resistance. Or at least a few attempts to convert me” lol. He also told me my nose piercing, chicly tied back scarf, and quirky personality would probably win them over. All of which did, but I thank God, FLY, and the intimidating kids of Garfield Elementary for such amazing classroom grace, rather than the nose ring, heh… it was magical! I tell people that I feel most alive and most ‘me’ when I teach, but I now know it’s entirely true. Happily, this is the one thing I am kind of good at, and I am just excited something I love has overlapped with an ability to do it well and help people in the process…alHamdulila! I am teaching two blocks and the first one is outstanding – their English is impressive and they are willing to engage in my pseudo-cheesy teaching style. The second class is older and it’s tricky for them to take someone younger than them seriously, but luckily their English isn’t strong enough for them to rebel…yet!

Coptic Cairo is really fascinating too. The school is inside a big Coptic church and when I was leaving it was dark out and the whole place glowed like some medieval castle. Only in the Middle East do blue and green florescent lighting go so well with religion! I’m going to try to take photos next week. Mar Girgis, where the church/school is, is very quiet and very interesting. I broke fast right before my class in the metro station and it was so nice: a little boy ran up and gave me a date and so I split my candy bar with him, another man gave me a packaged date-brownie (I guess the modern day, on-the-go adapatation to dates, heh) and it was just very comforting. Jon Hill, my supervisor was telling me how Cairo is not a city of diversity and it surprised me. I was attracted to Egypt because of its beautiful cultural pluralism, but I’m realizing the Christians are much more of a marginalized minority than I thought. It was awkward to hear the call of the muzzeins echo into the walls of the church, as if even the sounds of the majority religion could be escaped. Then again, there was a certain tinge of un-sacredness to the place too, as my supervisor continued smoking and cursing while entering the church yard. Sometimes I find Muslims hypocritical for altering their behavior SO drastically within holy places or during holy times, but I guess a distinction is still better than a complete disregard? Eitherway, I am very glad I decided to work in Coptic Cairo and am looking forward to spending Christmas and New Year’s with my students’ families and friends… Here's to another new adventure.

<-- The kitchen-aftermath of a very well-enjoyed home-cooked Iftar. Belisa, who is this crazy interesting Brazillian girl that Sasha met at her hostel when she arrived, was living with us for the past week and has just left for London. Side note, she is getting her master’s degree in poliSci with this really cool program that requires you to live in 3-4 different countries over a period of 14 months. We had Iftar together last week as our final meal and wound up talking politics, and religion, and academia, and men, and languages, and life generally for a few hours. I’m bummed she’s gone because she was giving me hope of learning some decent colloquial Arabic – en fin! - but also because I’ve been thinking about how transient our lives are sometimes. Yesterday someone said, I wish I could live in the US for six months, and then a different country for six months, and then a different country for six months… And I was just thinking about how amazing that would be, but how unforgiving time would be. Life would pass by so quickly. I know study abroad is hyped up to be this time of infinite self-discovery, but lately I’ve just felt kind of numb. It’s like life is a sort of anesthesia that just won’t kick in – I get very happy, but I don’t go under, yet I still can’t really function like normal either. I don’t mind that I haven’t actually made my bed in weeks and that books, stray piasters, empty cartons, and clothes are tangled between the sheets. All I know is that I am happy for the time being to exist in a state of shrunken ambitions because I am still optimistic about the possibilities.

Eitherway, it’s getting cooler in Cairo. I rarely sleep with my window open and I find myself turning off my ceiling fan from chill. It’s October and I’ve never flirted with an Autumn as pleasurably mild. Some of my travel plans are finally coming together, since ma chere Melyn will be in Morrocco next semester and Emily Hyatt invited me to Israel after the Jewish holidays in October…

This past weekend I disappeared to Hurghada again and it was blissful. The weekend was entirely different – the crowd was nearly comatose in comparison to last week’s quirky chill bunch and fasting put a different spin on the trip, too– but the advanced diving course was exciting and the tranquility and sweet company were very appreciated. I basically spent the entire week with Sameh and Sawaan, but tried to snap a few pics of everyone else too. The night dive, deep dive, and wreck dive were absolutely pimp. I’ve forbidden myself to go out of town again anytime too soon, but I am plotting some plans for Dahab or Marsa Alam during the Eid alFitr break… on verra.

1. Osama's binat getting out of the water.
2. Underwater group shot, last weekend.
3. Greg is the resident pirate.
4. Osama, Sawwan, me, and Sameh.
5. the advanced course taking the Zodiac out for our drift dive.
6. team chai&sokar
7,8,9,10. a little chill time on the upper deck.

I am very glad I packed:
1. my rap/hip-hop/ghettoPop-filled iPod. Few things inspire nostalgia for the states more than some thug-worthy rap. Music that I pseudo-liked in the US now finds a very warm place in my heart and eardrums, aparently Egyptians aren't Poppin' Their Collars, Big Pimpin', or Leanin' wit it, Rockin' wit it. In fact, they aren't even Bringing Sexyback yet.
2. a tremendous sense of humor. In Amsterdam, an Egyptian immigrant told me I couldn't enjoy Egypt if I took anything too seriously. He said: If you worry about terrorism, you'll drive yourself crazy. If you worry about feminism, you'll be cranky all the time. If you expect anything on time, you're very mislead. Whether its punctionality, air pollution, or . Instead of getting my panties in a twist I've just been able to laugh my frustrations away.
3. a sewing kit. This seems like an obvious one, but I was unaware of how agressive license plates on parked cars could be to pants and skirts before living here. It's only a matter of time before my wardrobe looks like a kleenex kid... explaination of this phrase is needless if you've walked the streets here, and explaining it would just make me feel elitist.

I wish I had packed:
1. ducktape. This amenity would make our showerhead, which remains sub-par and the household joke, somewhat functional, among other things.
2. a thousand AA batteries. I have recently dicovered "everReady" batteries, convienetly available everywhere in Cairo, have enough power to let me take ONE picture before my camera alerts me that my battery is exausted, again.
3. a normal sized - no, a king-sized! - bath towel. I had some serious towel-envy this weekend on the boat as I dried myselves with my washcloth sized Egyptian towel with ugly embroidry...*grumble* hah.
4. all of my class notes from sophomore year. my academic loads seems like a mirror image of last years classes, except with less SAT words and no copy-right laws.

I am feening for:
1. pleasure readers. People talk about reading like it was some bad habit they gave up shortly after highschool.
2. my sense of academic ambition and career-driven priorities. for the first time in my life I am complacent to the possibility my life might be spent in aimless pursuit of something to pass the time, help people, and reassure me i am not a waste of human potential instead of some solid career. at this point even grad. school seems like an option among others rather than the next thing on the list. this might be bad, but this might also be the liberation my life plan was in need of.
3. standard, sophisticated English. I sound fobbier and fobbier every day. Even my French is suffering from some serious Arabic infusion. I sound like a North African with no solid or grammatically correct grasp on any language. Articles and adverb agreement are fading into conversational

Suprisingly, I do not even slightly miss:
1. my treo or the internet/email addiction that came with it.
2. PrinceCafe and its absurdly over-priced shisha.
3. intimacy. its almost enjoyable to have returned to a state of prude innocence, hah. the lack of sexual intention makes interactions so much more pleasant and gives any slightly lustful exchange of glances so much more refreshing.

This weekend was a nearly hedonistic.

On Thursday night we piled on to this overcrowded little bus for a 6 hour drive to Hurghada. At 2am we found an absolutely gorgeous safari boat awaiting our arrival. The weekend, all of which was spent drifting the Red Sea, was literally a page out of some luxury paradise brocure, the crew cooked outstanding Middle Eastern food fresh at every meal and third-story deck provided a bed beneath a blanket of black sky and thousands of stars…. Life was literally: Wake up. Eat. Dive. Nap. Dive. Eat. Chill. Eat. Nap. Eat. Dive. Eat. Dive. Chill….for 48 hours. I’m attracted to SCUBA in a purely practical way: eff the fish and the reef - I feel like I am invading their habitat and I get stressed out thinking I am going to knock some poor creature’s entire life of growing into coral dust with one kick of my fin… The simple sensation of being underwater, not having to worry about floating or breathing, is what captures me. It’s fascinating to watch how people behave underwater, too. I’m interested in taking the rescue diver course, but that would require me to take the advanced diving course first… then again ship wrecks and night dives might be too tempting to pass up. This may become my new addiction.

also, Ramadan has begun and the city is entirely different. The streets are quiet, shops are closed... during iftar the untrained eye would think the city was abandoned... but inside resteraunts and houses people are breaking fast with sweet dates, tea, and course upon course of food. Before I left my mum asked me what I was most excited for and I told her this month, so inshaAllah it will be as sweet and generous as expected. Ramadan kareem.

First and foremost, a grand apology for not posting. Upon arrival to AUC, study abroad students were informed that during our "acculturalation" process, we would encounter a frustrating dip in our emotions. Luckily I have yet to encounter a dip of any sort, but this week has definitely been the least pleasant among a month of outstanding ones.

For example, this week provided me with the most cultural awkward day I've yet had in Cairo....

Everything started out normal: I rolled out of bed, went to the neighborhood falafel place to pick up lunch for sasha and I, passed by one of the dozen corner kiosks for sweets and a phonecard, and then bravely ventured into the neighborhood grocery store for a big box of water. Please note that Greg, who had been living with us for the past week or so had previously be charged with this responsibility and sash and I would normally have just trekked to Zamalek to shop in the confort of an uber-westernized English-speaking environment. Greg had prepared me for the experience, explaining that a little grocery boy would carry the box to our apartment and two pounds would suffice as payment. So, indeed Hussein, a 14 year old Egyptian boy, and I waded down the narrow streets of our neighborhood until sharia' abdel hamid said where every twenty seconds I assured him I could take the box from here…I am American. My attempts were thwarted and we wound up in the elevator where everything went down hill. The typical "Are you married?" dance elevated into total mess… eventually leading to a thwarted kiss, a shouting match of broken Arabic, and sasha and I pushing with all our weight against our door.

We were not going to be typical Americans in this situation. We were going to be Egyptian women. And in case you don't know, Egyptian woman have an astute faculty for bitchiness. Our goal was to march down to the market, clad in our most modest clothing, and explain to the manager what had happen and insist that the boy be reprimanded. Unfortunately we don't speak Arabic. So, Moodi, like always, came to our rescue and preceded to march down to the market to perform the aforementioned shaming of the local grocery boy. I think everyone within in a three 10 foot radius peeked into the grocery shop to watch the ordeal unroll. Envision: A circle of gossip-hungry Egyptian men and women encircling Moodi, shadowed by me and sasha feigning looks of seriousness and the shop keeper, shadowed by a teenage fuckwit feigning innocence, characterized by sweeping arm gestures and sharp sounding Arabic phrases.

At the end of the day, Sasha and I had shamed the neighborhood grocery boy, and received a dirty, bug-infested gift of pots and pans from our endearing yet odd bowab. I'm still not sure how the pots came into the situation…

Nevertheless, laterns are popping up on every storefront and the conversation seems to buzz with one word: Ramadan. The last month of the Islamic year is begining... very, very cool. I"m just writing from the library before heading out to Hurgada for the a weekend to get my SCUBA certification. More updates soon.

Classes are outstanding, unfortunately the city and Egypt generally is far too enticing for them to become the sole priority. people keep sending me notes with phrases like, “hope you are having the time of your life” and initially I thought these phrases were a bit superfluous or at least exaggerated, but this week, Thursday morning at 3a to be exact, i realized they are neither. Sasha looked at me and said, “this has been the most exciting month of my life”. It’s true. The past three weeks have definitely been unparallel, if not in excitement than at least in some other quality of experience. Twenty minutes before this nostalgic little moment of ours, we were galloping through the Sahara desert with the pyramids in the distance.

The moment a horse transitions from a clumsy trot into a sweeping gallop is one of the most exhilarating feelings I’ve ever experienced. On the way back to Giza, Mohammed said, “Ya Aminah, you’re a good rider, you’ll enjoy this…” and so I followed him. Perhaps a mistake, but one made gladly. After a few minutes of genuine fear and doubt in my safety, I found myself unable to keep the sound of exhilaration inside my body. A breathy haa, haa, haa emanated from, my soul - I think, with every gallop while Mohammed cried “yallah!” and we distanced ourselves from the others: just twilight, a cold breeze, hooves upon sand, deep breathing, and the deafening silence of the desert. This was just one of some many moments here that I am acutely aware and extremely happy that I am alive.