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.

Saturday Morning: Moving Day

The rain never materialized last night, but after my lazy day, I just felt like eating something practical close by since my lunch was so late. Besides, zi was down because I realize I was scammed. That unexplained skirmish Thursday night was explained last night when I was packing. All my US cash is gone.

When I was pushed off the wall (low) and I landed on the ground, my backpack was virtually hanging from my shoulder and I was in a bit of shock about what happened. My "rescuers," as I said, seemed kind and concerned for me and they were very attentive and they helped me get my bearings, but part of that involved removing my backpack while I brushed the dirt off me and watched that the aggressive guy kept his distance.

Whilst packing last night, I thought I would check my most important documents and my cask, and there it wasn't. I've been rather upset to be scammed, but at least I did not lose my passport, camera or iPad. The whole thing has soured me a little though.

But today has dawned a beautiful day. It is only 7 degrees this morning, but it will be hot, for sure, later. And the weather for the entire time am in Egypt is predicted to be warm and sunny except tomorrow when I plan to be in the museum anyway. If the afternoon is nice, I will go to the park. If not, I will rely on advice for something to do that is out of the rain.

But today is about travel. Off I go to Cairo!

Location:شارع محمد الخامس,Marrakesh,Morocco

Friday, Marakesh

Last day here...


It's almost 3:30 and I've just sat down to eat... Usual place, but I have ordered Kefta, not knowing what I will get. But it's been a fabulous day, weather-wise; hot and bright. I've been in a t-shirt and shorts all day, not giving a damn whether or not it is appropriate. Tourists can be forgiven anything if they just keep spending. I'm in the sun, they have diet coke and I've had a great day in the garden.

I did nothing but breath In the scent of the flowers and the odd whisps of woodsmoke that hits my olfactories like incense. I was alone the whole time, in beautiful surroundings, listening to This American Life (TAL) podcasts and deepening my relationship with the spectacular Ari Glass. It's safer listening to TAL because their podcasts don't make me cry as much as The Moth does. The Moth podcasts make me cry just about every time.

OK, Kefta is balls of lamb mixed with spices and tomato in a rich meaty tomato sauce with some kind of cheese or something on the bottom. Could be some kind of curd. It looks like egg white but it isn't. It's seems rather bland, but delicious in the sauce. I asked; it's egg. And the host showed me to dip my bread in the sauce.





And this bread! Not the flatbread of yesterday, but a fluffy white bread with an interior like Angel Food cake. mmmmm,,,,, such a beautiful last day in Morocco to remember. A day of calm with Ari before tomorrow's hustle and bustle with cabs, and customs, and changing flights and waiting and all.


Got home and couldn't find my glasses. I a panic, I showered and went back out in search of a pharmacy. I was sure I knew where one was and I was right. ident straight to it, but they don't carry reading glasses. But they told me where to go across the DEF, but the optician was closed. Nothing to do but go home and there they were on the bedside table on the "wrong" side of the bed.

The photos below show you the construction of what I call pop-up restaurants. They pop up every night but are gone every day. First the kitchen on wheels that is the base of everything.


Soon, the roof is going up and there is lightning on the horizon, so they may need it tonight.





The kitchen gets lit and the coals are fanned. The food starts to get displayed.


The eating tables start to go up.


Well underway now.


Ready for customers.

Late Thursday Evening II

My new room has no windows to the outside, so I got up, dressed and went outside to see how things looked. I.E. Would I need five layers or one? Do I need my umbrella or not? And 97% of the sky is crystal clear! My las day in Marakesh will b e a beautiful one. The Palais Royale is closed tight, so part of today will be sitting in the park crying—crying because I listen to the Moth podcasts that I brought and that so move me!

Lunch will definitely be at The Fly Palace, but a new dish today, and tonight may be a safe dinner somewhere, or a trip to another numbered pop-up restaurant—I think the numbered restaurant will win because last night I actually talked to someone. To my left, we're two guys who were really nice and open and bright-eyed. One was from Seattle and the other was from Portland. And they had a lovely woman with a gorgeous unending smile. She sends out to the world, a radiant message of welcome. (I am glad she has two hefty guardians with her here.)

I remember in India, after quite a few months, that I suddenly felt that I had "got it." I felt, to a reasonable degree I understood how to "be." There were foreigners I saw there who liked to wear Indian style clothes. I could no not do that, except for fun at a private dinner with other ex-pats, because I loved their fashions. And there were those who joined Ashrams or studied with sadhus, but I had nothing to do with that, either. It is not about "becoming" one of the people, tossing off learned phrases or dressing the part.

I felt I "got it" when I figured how how to be me, a tourist and a foreigner, and accepted how I was perceived. In India, I told friends that I felt like a bulging white six-foot wallet walking around and I resented that. And I have had a sense of that here and it has been getting to me, but last night, a guy got really aggressive with me. he pulled me off the sidewalk and was stronger than me. I could not understand what he wanted but he would not let go of my coat and talking louder and louder, and I could smell liquor on his breath. Then, suddenly, I was able to break free and I fell down on the sidewalk.

This being Morocco, as soon as I hit the ground, men came to see what was going on. My assailant was cursing me and I was worried. He was wearing one of those Turkish hooded long coats and I looked like a total tourist with my backpack and white skin, but those who came came to help me and were kind and considerate, and others berated the guy and shoved him away. It was weird: everyone assumed the old white guy was the victim and that the younger l coal was the aggressor. They did not help their own as I feared they might, they helped me.

I went right home and I was trembling. My hands were shaking and my heart was pounding when I got to my room. Honestly, nothing happened. It was so quick. But something could have happened and I feel lucky it didn't. The incident has made me tougher. I have to be different here.

All the hustlers who work for the hamams, restaurants and booths work hard to get to a point where they have a hold of your hand and they ask you to promise to come back. Tat, I never do. I have learned that. The promise works for them. Duh, Chris. But I am a rather meek person, especially, as I say, when I am in unfamiliar territory. And I grew up learning to please people. Until I was twelve or so, I thought that if I was bad or screwed up with my parents or at Church or catechism, it could lead to going back to the orphanage. I became a pleaser, and that personality has to die here. So "getting it," to me, is about changing who you are but staying who you are.

That guy last night... Today I am mad, not scared, and everyone from here on will be dealing with a wiser me. I have to stay focused on what brings me pleasure and, although that sounds so selfish, it is about keeping true to my needs and not feeling guilty for not fulfilling their economic desires.

I think some of my mojo has come back to me from my long time in India. Plus, when I got home last night which took less than a minute, there was a fairly serious fight on the street, directly outside our front door. Two hotel staff were at the door and they were talking about the fighting. They said a lot I could not understand—some people speak French with an incredible Arabic accent—but there was some kind of football game last night and apparently there were little skirmishes all night all around the quartier.

I told them that a guy had grabbed me and went weird. The staff here were very, very concerned and felt I should call the tourist police who have an office just a block-and-a-half away. I said no. I saw no point in doing that because I have no idea what he wanted or anything at all. Besides, I leave tomorrow.

Things happen when you travel alone and you are older. I am completely ignored by touts focused on selling things for women, but I am a walking target for guys selling the myriad of legal things here, but particularly the touts shilling for hamams, night clubs, booze and drugs.

Tomorrow my flight leaves here for Casablanca at 11:50; at 2:10, I leave Casablanca for Cairo, arriving at 9:10 pm, so I won't be doing much that night. A not going to go out alone at night where I have no idea about the surrounding area. The next day, Sunday, I hope to go the the Museum and the Al-Azhar Garden and Park.

Thursday Evening

I took a nap this afternoon. When I awoke, I went into the bathroom and it was completely flooded. As I write this, I am sitting on my bed, having told the staff, watching the water spread into my bedroom. I have my stuff on the bed so that it doesn't get wet. The water is now covering a quarter of the room. No one seems in any hurry to solve the problem, so I am sitting here hoping is don't have to wade to the facilities before it gets fixed and cleaned up.

The Djemaa El-Fna is absolutely over the top tonight. There must be tens of thousands of people here, many many more than in the past two nights. I've come to eat in booth #25—not a name for fancy review in the Times or anything. But serious fun. I am at a long table, probably four meters, and people are seated as they arrive on either side. Restaurant #25 seems more oriented to foreigners than #31 where I ate last time. there are probably 50 of these pop-up restaurants in the square each night. They are not here during the day. In fact, the square is far, far busier at night than in the day. There are small bands and one-man traditional bands, men with trained monkeys that will pose withi you in photos, snake charmers, individual sellers of an endless variety of things, cigarette sellers, hooch vendors, henna hand painters, hash sellers, folk dancers, gymnasts, zillions of orange juice sellers ($1 a glass of the sweetest most delicious nectar you can imagine) and zillions of escargot vendors.


A game of fishing for pop. (Above.)


A small band (below).


Click on images to enlarge them.


An escargot vendor (below).


My dinner at #25.


It is a warm night and the sky is full is stars. Maybe tomorrow will be sunny
and perhaps that is one reason the square is so incredibly vibrant tonight. Tomorrow is my last day here. In spite of the flies, the overly zealous touts and the rain, I will leave with very, very fond memories of Morocco. I am really glad I came, and I think it is a perfect introduction to Cairo. I've assimilated a bit of Islamic culture in advance of the megalopolis and it's challenges.

Thursday, Marakesh

This morning has broken quite cool and very cloudy, but it is not raining so far, so out I will go with the crappy umbrella I bought. And looking ahead, this morning, on the web, I see that there is rain in Cairo, Nairobi and Stonetown, my future destinations, but it gets warmer.

Breakfast is served at this hotel on its terrace on the roof. It is weird getting warmly dressed, pulling on my new wool cap and going upstairs for breakfast in the chill of morning. When I head out, I am wearing five layers: singlet, long-sleeved T-shirt, regular T-shirt, sweater and coat.

The Kasbah is a ten minute walk and I am excited about seeing such a historic place. It is fabulous on the side streets where there is practically no one, but on the streets where there are merchants, I am a solitary target.

CORRECTION: The other day I posted a photo of what I thought were the old gates. WRONG! That was the oldest Mosque. Below, are the old gates into the Kasbah.


It is winter, so there are not a lot of tourists, and it is early, so I see few other foreigners and I feel like a steak in a den of hyenas. I stuck to the back streets and then left.















Thank God for this garden across from the hotel. it is like a church for me where I can be alone, untroubled with a bottle of diet coke and today, a very charming man with sugared donuts came by. And yes I did—to celebrate the return of some sunshine. I had to take off all my layers except the short-sleeve T-shirt and I want to go back onto the hotel and get these hot jeans off.

Note: There are just. Billions of flies here. They cover you, your food and your things. At first you try to shoo them away, but eventually you give up and accept them as part of life. They've. Even all over The food I've been eating and I feel fine. (See below.)


Also, whereas I appreciate the concern of friends about eating wisely, the street food and small vendors are astronomically more interesting and fulfilling than eating "safe" and, to me, boring. The Club Med Medina provides Pastilla the traditional way in a menu du jour meal for $200. Won't be doing that.

1:45 pm and so I am back to the same restaurant as yesterday. The idea was to try something new, but I caved and ordered the Tajine de poulet again. Why not, I am on vacation and what is more self-indulgent than that? I know, more Tajine! The rain has stayed away. It has been nice and warm and now this food that smells as good as it tastes ($7). Then a short walk and back to the hotel for a rest. I am beat for some reason.



Storks are on many, many of the higher structures.

Wednesday Night

I think this beautiful tree I saw this afternoon may be a Jacaranda. It has gorgeous blue flowers.

Walking through the pop-up restaurants in the FED is like, it seems to me, being the most beautiful twenty-five year old woman ever born in the history of the world, and walking naked through a penitentiary full of lifers—all out of their cells—who haven't seen a live woman in years.

Tonight, Wednesday, one of the hustlers who work each place—mostly with a practiced charm—verged on assault and another vendor came to my rescue. So tonight, I ate at one of these places (the rescuer's) as I had wanted to, and loved every second. There is a camaraderie amongst clients, the chef checks that you love each thing and the mint tea that comes with the meal is absolutely superb. I may have a new habit!


The tapas style servings. That tomato hot sauce is to die for and always served at the beginning f the meal with olives and delicious flat bread.





And I got a new hat ($4) from the widow who knitted it.


Note: Two days with no fighting around me!

Cathy McK: thank you for your suggestions of things to see her and places to go. The Internet issues prevent me from doing decent research, so your suggestions are most welcome. Tomorrow I will go the the palace you proved I visit and I will go into the Kasbah. Not being a shopper, the souks kind of bore me I am afraid and sometimes I verge on that feeling of being the naked women in a prison.

Dinner over, I headed home, sadly, in the rain.