Sunday, Monday morning, Cairo

Sunday....

It's 1:30 pm and I am in the Casablanca airport. What a feast for my imagination and curiosity it here here in the waiting area. Across from me is a lovely young woman from Cairo who is going home, and the English tourists are all seeking reassurance from her about the state of things in her city.

Also, here is a guy here who either is (or seriously wants to be) a photojournalist of the first order. He is wearing jungle fatigues and lot of cameras, but the overwhelming sense of who he is, and what he might be going to do as he sits here, makes him strike me as a "wanna be" for some reason. He is an interesting looking character, overweight and lounging over two chairs.

And there are the babes. Babes wear full make up, designer duds and so many accessories, one wonders how long it take to clear security. The woman to my right is a Babe. Nothing she has is lacking in a visible trademark—Burberry, Dolce et Gabana, Gucci...etc.

There is a two hour time difference between Morocco and Egypt. My flight is five hours. I arrive at 9:10 pm local time. A whole day, in fact 12 full hours, are involved in getting from Marakesh to the Cairo airport. One of the babes, of course, has a piece of cabin baggage that is WAY too big; thee men came to her aid. She looks like Sade, and works the whole plane. The other baby, in the HIGE D&G glasses is flirting with the cabin crew. She does not want to sit down. Beside me is a baby that cries. He is across the aisle, but his Mom is really good about caring for the little guy. He is tiny and the crying strikes me more as music than noise. In the seat in front of me is an Egypt Air air Marshall. He is huge. There are two of them on board. We are an hour late. We won't get in until 10-ish local time.

Midnight...

I checked in at 11:30. It took an hour to drive here from the airport that is WAY out of town. Ahmed met me, as arranged. He is very charming and he is moving with his wife and two kids to Canada soon. If you have been following me on this blog, you know I was in a "Daddy" hotel in Agadir. Well, now I am in a Grandaddy Hotel. I am in a seriously posh place, but I don't care. I'm only here for two nights.

What has broken my heart is that I can't go the Egyptian Museum tomorrow. Ahmed thinks it is just too dangerous because of the police, not the protesters, and the tear gas. So I'm shelling out the big bucks to be toured around tomorrow and I am trying to change my flight on the day I come back here (after the cruise) so that I can go to the museum then. I am 63 and I cried when I got in the room because I am scared I won't see the museum. Is that pathetic or what? But I have wanted to go to this museum since I was 12 years old when my cousin, Ann, gave me a book about Egypt and the Pharos—especially Akhenatan.

There are 22 million people here. This is like coming to Calcutta or Mumbai. Given its size and how little time I have, I am really glad I have the guides. I accept that I am too old and too meek to do places like this on my own. And although these Daddy hotels are not my thing, tonight I am seriously appreciating the hot bath and the luxury. Once in a while it is fun. BUT, $8 for half an hour of Internet access makes me sick. And $4 per tin of pop. It's offensive to me, this kind of blatant exploitation, but I am finally, FINALLY in a country and city that I have dreamed about visiting all my life. Tomorrow should be an interesting day. And after my day, I look forward to a quiet evening here in my Grandaddy room instead of going to the sound and light show at Giza as Ahmed recommended. I am so not into Son et Lumiere!

Monday morning....

Up at six after a great sleep. My window gives into a shaft and there is a mesh on it but it opens. But I can't tell what the weather is like, so I dress and go downstairs to get a sense of the day and to see if there are any convenience-type shops nearby for drinks and snacks. I am in this swank hotel, but outside is a sewer. There is literally garbage piled on the sidewalks and intersections and there is a light brown dirty coating on everything. This city seems filthy from what I saw driving in and this morning.

And it is. Kind of weird that men seem to wear whatever they want (I saw suits, but mostly casual dark clothes and lots of street wear like you would see on young people anywhere) but a large percentage of the women are "traditionally" dressed, and to my eyes it is like most of the women are nuns. The shape of the garments make me think of nuns, but there is more colour to the fabrics here.