I Want My Mummy

Yesterday was dedicated to the massive Egyptian Museum. Apparently, if you read the description of every piece on display for one minute, it would take nine months to go through the entire museum. Since I'm not an Egyptologist, I opted for the Cliff Notes' walking tour from the Lonely Planet. My attention span was stretched to its maximum (five hours). The highlights included the famed King Tut exhibit (invariably the Steve Martin song ran through my head as it probably does for many), the Mummy Room (11 preserved pharoah and queen mummies all kept at 22 degrees Celsius), Pharoanic technology and the Animal Mummies (everything from dogs and cats to falcons and monkeys). The museum left one overriding impression: why did the pharoahs try so hard? I guess that decadence has always won out over balance; however, it's difficult to revel in these beautiful works with that attitude. It might be like my initial reaction to Vegas: that it's profligate, every vice to the extreme and much too intense. Eventually, I moved past that sanctimonious attitude and maybe I should do so in regards to this Egyptologist's mecca as well.

The contradictions of ancient Egypt are consistent with modern-day Cairo. Four-star hotels gleam next to the ubiquitous slums. The sparkling Nile runs alongside the filthy streets of the second most polluted city in the world. (From Lonely Planet, 'In the words of Tony Horwitz, author of 'Baghdad Without a Map,' Cairo is the great upturned ashtray.') Cairo boasts many universities, but women's rights are severely limited. They sell Mountain Dew everywhere (one side in Arabic, the other in English), though the tap water is filthy. (No diet Mountain Dew unfortunately. If my favorite drink were sold here, I would be forced to love this city.)

The last few days have been marked by some pleasant surprises. For instance, I was expecting to starve here because of this passage from the Lonely Planet:

'As for the local cuisine, while there are many wonderful things about Egypt, none of them are gastronomic. In fact, Egypt can lay claim to having introduced the world to one of the most revolting dishes of all time, molokhiyya. Made by stewing the deep green molokhiyya leaf in chicken stock, the resulting soup looks like green algae and has the consistency of mucus. The 11th-century caliph Al-Hakim found the stuff so repulsive he had the dish banned. Still, it has its fans and ought to be tried at least once, if only for the experience.'

Admittedly, I haven't ventured away from my beloved Felfela Takeaway and the hotel restaurant. And I steered clear of molokhiyya. (The Nepal trek is a mere two weeks away and another illness best avoided.) However, the Egyptian cuisine has been delicious, especially the ta'amiya, roasted eggplant in pitas, shurbat ads (lentil soup) and hummus soup. Enjoying these dishes constitutes a major accomplishment for someone who only ate hot dogs and spaghetti for two years of her life.

Another pleasant surprise has been the traffic. Initially, it induced a good measure of my culture shock. In time, it has become a source of great entertainment. No one was hurt so I figure it's an acceptable pasttime. Cairenes make New Yorkers look like a bunch of lightweights. I haven't taken any buses since I would rather not use my emergency insurance. The Lonely Planet provided a pitch-perfect description of a scene I've enjoyed again and again:

'Taking a bus in Cairo is an experience all of its own. First, there's getting on. Cairenes stampede buses, charging the entrance before the thing has even slowed down. Hand-to-hand combat ensues as they run alongside trying to leap aboard. If you wait for it to stop, the pushing and shoving to get on is even worse. Often several passengers don't quite manage and they make their journey hanging off the back doorway, clinging perilously to the frame or to someone with a firmer hold. The scene inside the bus in this case usually resembles a Guiness World Record attempt on the greatest number of people in a confined space...'

In addition, I've found two genuine people at the hotel: the maid whose name I couldn't begin to spell (a lovely woman who wears a higab, calls me 'nice lady' and made swans out of the towels on my bed) and the hotel waiter (who set up a special dinner for me last night on the balcony overlooking the city). Baksheesh has been exchanged; however, they have stopped to chat on many occasions when no money was involved. The Lotus Hotel has been my sanctuary like the Nile Hilton internet cafe. For nine dollars a night, I have a single room, shower (but no door or curtain), air conditioning, clean sheets and a safe place to rest. It was also great having a phone - calls from Andrea, my friend Amy and my parents were pretty trippy. They had never called Cairo before.

One last pleasant surprise has been the haggling process. Except for food, all prices in Cairo are up for negotiation. My third day, I took part in this Cairene tradition to purchase a pair of Adidos sandals. (It's not a typo. It was between those and the Reobok ones.) Fortunately, I decided not to employ my dad's bargaining strategies. When we used to attend the NCAA tournament games, he would basically open up his wallet and ask the scalpers, 'How much?' I managed to bring the price down a few pounds and have a fun souvenir from Egypt.

I leave late tonight for two weeks in India. Even greater culture shock is on the horizon. I've done my research all week by reading the India Rough Guide and by practicing eating only with my right hand. It's onto my fourth continent of the trip next.