Constructing Kasun, Educator

Last night I realized I forgot to download a post.  Unfortunately, I am finding out this morning that I wrote right over it and lost the post.  I won’t be able to reconstruct it.  I wrote it the day before yesterday during the break in a three hour session about Zionism.  I had written about what defined Zionism and other thoughts.  I also shared thoughts about an Israeli Arab who spoke to us.  I hope to be able to weave some of those perspectives into future posts. 

Today we went to Tel Aviv (we’ve been staying in a suburb of the city and have been into town for dinner and swimming).  Modern.  Clean.  Great architecture.  The young and fashionable populate the streets alongside those who care less about fashion in their strappy Velcro sandals and worn T-shirts.  The Mediterranean beaches offer sand as soft as flour and clear blue waters.  We also went to Jaffa, a port city now connected to Tel Aviv, full of 4,000 years of history.  We finished the day by listening to traditional music in Hebrew, Yiddish and Ladino.  I was mesmerized and didn’t want the violinist to stop playing.  Two hours later, I could still be listening to her.

But tonight I feel like relaying the experience more in poetry.  I’m leaning more toward an impressionistic sense of life here, and prose won’t help me convey that. 

Peace at the Last

Distant cousin, I thought you were younger,

Though I had never seen your face in person, only glanced

At hard images from newspapers suggesting

The precocious, even insolent, adolescent

Smoking unfiltered cigarettes at midnight, inviting trouble

From the rowdy neighbors you might provoke

If you got the idea that you’d enjoy a fight.

Instead,

I find a saddened sage,

Deep creases around eyes that penetrate

And yet don’t assume they know the only answer

But rather seek distinct voices,

With a high tolerance for dissonance and discord.

On the other hand,

I sometimes find you fixated

On one story, like a catchy tune you can’t rid from your mind.

So, like you, I dichotomize yet at the same time conjure

Chaos as unity, where multiple voices are synthesized,

In search of a higher solution.

You are sands and mountains and skyscrapers,

History and modernity,

A miracle of a nation and at the same time

A bloody scar that won’t heal over,

Picked and scraped by your nearby brothers

Who you don’t seem to recognize as such,

Who don’t treat you as blood, who scratch

To draw more blood to the surface, and

Neither you nor your brothers are willing

To let scars heal or allow blood to comingle

In a way that might allow for peace.

And I watch you, seducing land,

Place for which I would fight and die

If I considered it my birthright to live on this land,

And I marvel at what you have achieved

In a finger snap of history and weep at what you

Have failed to accomplish, what my own land

Has lost and denied through history.

I want to lose myself in your religion, your chants

And prayers and Sabbath and people, want the sands

To caress and then swallow me, waters to cleanse

And purify me, want the streets to unfold in below

Feet that can tread for miles and miles on mosaics

From thousands of years ago, streets paved by your

National project, which I want to believe can coexist

With a strange and hostile and beautiful world.

And I can only offer a prayer as conciliation:

Peace and peace and peace,

At the last.

Yesterday I traveled wide territory in an emotional sense.  We started our day at the Herzl Museum and Educational Center a site that commemorates the founder of Zionism in its culmination in the form of the Jewish state.  Several famous Israelis, including Herzl, Golda Meir, and Shimon Peres, are buried there.  The museum part helps you understand why Israel was founded.  I tried to imagine what my experience would be like if I were Jewish.  The museum uses multimedia techniques where you feel like you are really part of the International Zionist Congress at the turn of the 20^th Century, it reminds you of the anti-Semitism that existed in the world leading up to the creation of Israel, and then it highlights Israel’s achievements in more recent years.

I left the Herzl Museum feeling confused.  I am forced to confront the fact that the Israeli narrative is so different than the Palestinian one.  Both sides describe their feelings and attachments to the same land, but when you hear the narratives, you might imagine that either side were discussing a completely different place.  It’s frustrating and causes a lot of dissonance.

From there we went to the Holocaust Museum, Yad Vashem, just over the hill from the Herzl Museum.  The facility is only two years old, and the landscapes are incredible—reminding me of the trees of Lebanon and the wide-reaching mountains and desert.  We began in a hall that commemorates the death of more than 1.5 million children.  All the names they have are read inside a dark hall of glass and mirrors full of lit candles.  You get the sensation of being in the night sky while being confronted with the senselessness of this loss of life.  From there, the exhibits are laid out in switchbacks, and you have to walk through the entire exhibit to get to the end (no shortcuts).  Each station had recorded personal anecdotes from Holocaust survivors.  The emotional effect is similar to the US Holocaust Memorial Museum in DC; you are riveted and left with few words after the experience.  I wanted to cry throughout the museum, but I felt somehow that I didn’t have the right to.  It was only upon leaving when someone asked me how I was that a sort of desperate sound of weeping escaped. 

The only sort of answer I can provide to this is that there are things beyond my control that I can’t understand.  I have to accept tragic, widescale suffering as part of my faith.  And so during the three hours of free time during the afternoon yesterday, a colleague on the trip and I went to the Via Dolorosa in the Old City of Jerusalem to mark the steps of Christ’s Passion through the fourteen Stations of the Cross.  Our trip leaders had to work to get special permission for our trip to be “sanctioned” by the embassy (we were told not to go during night hours as our only restriction). 

We arrived at the Lion’s Gate and entered the Muslim part of Jerusalem (Jerusalem is carved into different sections since the 1967 War).  There I heard Arabic again, was able to use my seven or eight useful words of Arabic, gave water to a beggar woman who asked for it (I think I mentioned the desert people culture in Egypt of asking freely for other people’s water in a former post).  We found the first station almost by accident along the cobblestone pathways.  It is marked with a small brass plate.  From there we followed a group of Nepalese pilgrims for a few more stations.  I bought a small pamphlet which labels each of the stations and tried to imagine Christ suffering through each stop.  Then a small boy offered to show us the remaining stations, and we welcomed his assistance, as we got confused with the labyrinth of streets and alleyways (cars cannot pass through most of the Old City).  We finally arrived at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher , where Christ died and was resurrected (if you believe the story like I do).  Pilgrims from all over the world waited patiently for a moment to touch his tomb.  We arrived when mass was ending.  The final wafts of incense perfumed our entrance.  I was humbled and amazed to think that I had actually seen these places which are fundamental to the practice of my faith.  Certainly it helped me gain perspective on the earlier reflections of the day.

***

We also observed the beginning of the Sabbath, yesterday evening (goes through today until sundown, or, more technically, until three stars can be spotted in the sky) with our Jewish colleagues in the evening.  We witnessed some of the ritual singing and even took part in a bit of it in the evening.  I wondered if our religious practices, despite being so distinct, could somehow unite us, transcend these political issues on the ground.

***

Just a few final notes…  We have also visited an artists’ village where I had to be pulled away.  I could have hung out all night there.  In the mountains, stone brick artists’ studios, lots of colorful art (many of it being Judaica as well).  We’ve seen some amazing archaeological sites as well, including Caesarea and where David supposedly fought Goliath and where Armageddon is supposed to take place.  I just don’t have the time to fill in the details.  Rest assured that I am taking pictures and trying desperately to keep these good memories alive.  The people here have been very kind.  I am fighting to separate out the political and the conflict from the souls of all the people I encounter here, trying to make a space to understand and be understood.

Final note—when we went to the Via Dolorosa, we spoke with a man who lives in the West Bank at a small café.  His story was just so polar opposite in the political terms.  Yet he was also very peaceful and says he, too, wants peace.    

For any group of people who want to understand Israel, they have to understand Judaism.  The State of Israel, as you know, was created to be a Jewish State.  The laws are secular, but the identity is Jewish.  Religious people are supported by the state, so not all activity is entirely secular (for instance, a certain population of Jews is supported by the state to study religious texts without adding productively to the economy).

So, where to begin?  From a cultural standpoint, you could go to the Museum of the Diaspora, which tells the story of the Jewish people who were forcibly removed from their land and ended up settling all around the Mediterranean and beyond, setting up Jewish communities.  Central to this is the Temple, which was destroyed twice, the second time in 70 AD, and the Jews were left without their most holy of spaces to worship.  There is a debate whether or not exile has been creative or destructive to the Jews.  Many of the Jews who now live in Israel obviously believe that a return to their land is creative, and that’s why they’re here. 

We’ve also looked (at a microscopic level) at a few religious texts to understand the kind of discourse and analysis that belongs to Judaism.  While the Catholic part of me wants a Magisterium to determine which texts and interpretations are correct, the Jews refuse to do this.  The result is a certain kind of tolerance and wiggle room among interpretation that seems to ultimately resolve itself through history.  Several group members have commented that when they ask a question of our presenters, the response is either, “I’m getting to that,” or another question in reply. 

There’s a huge question here also of, “Who is a Jew?”  For about an hour, our group discussed with our very patient advisor what might be an appropriate answer to that question.  There are lots of possible answers—culture, religion, history, being the son or daughter or a Jewish woman, and so on.  Just like the religious tradition of the Jews, there isn’t a solid answer.  I suppose this is true of many groups and the way they do and don’t identify themselves.

We also listened to an explanation of basic demographics here in Israel, begun with a map that showed physical distances in miles of how small Israel is, and, according to the presenter, how real the danger of the Palestinian territories are.  We’ve found that Israel is at the front of international research in various fields and that its economy is becoming increasingly capitalist with the issues that come with it—increased inequality but also increased GDP per capita. 

I keep wondering if any religious state can make it on the international stage.  We’ve learned that Muslim Arabs (and maybe other Arabs?) who live in Israel are considered citizens yet don’t have the right to vote.  It goes without saying this is a real problem.  The Israeli Jew will likely explain that if you give those Arabs the right to vote, they’ll lose their Jewish state.  The same people who are the subject of anti-Semitism throughout the world, a people who would like to be able to be part of their culture and religion in one geographic place.

***

Last night, four of us ventured into Tel Aviv proper from our suburban hotel, about 20 minutes from the city.  What a great city.  We had dinner on the beach of the Mediterannean with the most expertly prepared food I’ve had since the trip began, my plate full of red rice, mango sauce, and perfectly grilled blue bream.  We walked along the soft sand and could see the water was very clear even at night; some locals were still bathing in the warm waters.  Later we took a taxi to the restaurant called, “Max Brenner’s Chocolate Bar.”  Yes, your imagination is correct in picturing a chocolate lover’s dream—white, milk, dark chocolates in liquid and solid forms.  The atmosphere was vibrant along the Port area where we passed restaurant after restaurant full of locals and visitors having a good time.

I’ve been in Israel for two days now.  We landed at Ben Gurion Airport, and that was where I experienced my first glimpse of culture shock.  There was a lot of order, people talking quiety, far fewer guardsmen with guns than in Egypt.  We then came to our hotel and had a buffet style lunch.  Much of the food was the same; we are in the Middle East, after all.  Hummus, white cheese, tomatoes and cucumbers, in addition to other foods which Iam not certain are representative of Israeli culture.  After a couple hours of a break in the afternoon (where I scoped out the pool and was not pleased to find it full of local kids and teenagers in bikinis—another point of culture shock).  Then an orientation meeting and dinner with folks from the US Embassy and local universities.  There was a speaker whose message I had difficulty discerning (he referred to a lot of Jewish history and ancient history—both areas where my background knowledge is lacking—other colleagues said they liked him).

Yesterday was what felt like my real initiation to Israel.  We went to Ben Ilan University first, where we toured the library and handled old texts, including an autographed copy of Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass (which I began reading greedily after a three week hiatus from any poetry).  We also visited a brain research center, a massive complex where specialists from many fields research collaboratively to understand the brain—there is NIH funding involved in the project.

After another discussion related to the 9^th of Av, which began last night and is being celebrated today (it’s a historic memory holiday commemorating several tragic events the Jews have lived through, including the destructions of the Temple), we went to the Old City of Jerusalem. 

I had hoped to have feelings that lent themselves to contemplating the places Jesus had visited. Our guide tried to point many of those places out.  Unfortunately, when we went to the Last Supper room, several of the Catholics in our group were figuring out if that was really the place it was supposed to be.  After our visit, our Lonely Planet guidebooks said it wasn’t and we had missed it.  Our guide had explained that he typically deals with Israeli tourists, and I doubt they’re as interested in the sites Jesus went to.  The city is old and contains traces of ancient history as well as rebuilt areas from 20^th century conflicts.

We went to the Church of the Assumption, and I was glad to be in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament for a few moments.  Several of us lit candles and sat contemplatively.  It’s a beautiful 20^th century structure with a crypt room commemorating what is supposed to be the location where Mary was assumed to Heaven.  We later went to the Mount of Olives, ate a picnic style meal, and made our way down to Gethsemane.  From there we went to the Western Wall, where observant Jews were preparing to pray throughout the night in observance of the 9^th of Av.  We were separated by genders and approached the wall, several of us putting prayers into the cracks where we could find spaces.  We stood facing the wall, absorbing the chants of the men to our left and the quieter, more singular prayers of the women before us.

It’s a nostalgic moment, one that is producing some dissonance for me as well.  I’m about to leave Egypt, and I find myself not wating to go.  I don’t want to stay here forever, but there’s so much left to see.  I’ve also been treated incredibly well by the Fulbright office here in Cairo, and, more specifically, our Egyptian academic advisor and the woman who oversees our program from the Fulbright office.  These two women have accompanied us throughout the trip and have been very open about answering our questions, even very difficult and critical ones.  They have also made sure that we have not had to worry about the smaller problems related to our always comfortable accomodations, delicious meals, and access to Egyptian points of interest.

Last night, our groups split into two and visited two different Egyptian families.  We went to my academic advisor’s and met her husband, her son Amr (nine), and her daughter Salma (six).  They couldn’t have been more gracious.  They live in one of the nicest districts of Cairo, complete with landscaped sidewalks (an anomoly in most parts of otherwise gray and sandy Cairo) and upscale shopping.  Their apartment, on the seventh floor of their building, was mostly white and decorated with a minimal amount of furniture.  An Egyptian soccer team was playing a Tunisian team last night on television, and the men (Egyptian and American) gathered around to watch, while the women sat on the classical-looking sofa and chairs and talked (after a quick trip to Salma’s bedroom where we were introduced to her various toys and got to look at her class picture from the German school she attends).  I felt so welcome in her home and really enjoyed being around her bright and funny kids.  It felt so nice to feel both normal and welcome. 

I prepare to leave for Israel tomorrow.  I am frustrated that there’s so much more I want to learn here but also realize the summer can’t go on forever and that my life back home is waiting for me (and I miss my family and friends!).  I’ve gotten used to things here.  I suppose in the stages of cultural adjustment I’ve just hit the “honeymoon” phase, and, I am fully aware that I’m experiencing Egypt at its very best—with excellent guides, wonderful accommodations, among interesting people.  Nonetheless, I don’t want to go away from the dusty streets, the men in their long robes (some, not all Egyptians wear these), the European-styled buildings, the pharoanic influence of history on contemporary life.  I will miss these warm people and their eagerness to help me out.  I will miss koshary—a national dish of rice, vermicelli, chick peas, lentils and fried onions topped with a tomato sauce.  I’ll miss the strange traffic and chaotic order of the streets where men on bicycles pass by with large sheets of bread pitas on their heads.  I’ll miss the ancient taxis in their black and white paint jobs.  I’m even romanticizing the incessant beeping of car horns.  So long, old country.  I hope to return one day.

I could offer many specifics about the state of politics in Egypt and the Middle East.  Instead, I’m going to try to use broad strokes to deliver the main ideas we received from three of the last sessions in which we participated.  One speaker was the Chief of the Cabinet of the Secretary General of the Arab League, another was an expert in Egyptian-Israeli relations, and another was an expert in the media in Egypt and the Middle East.

First, there seems to be little optimism about where the Middle East is headed, particularly in light of the way Palestinians are treated inside Israel and the way the war in Iraq has headed.  Our Arab League speaker explained that dialogue has been cut off at the knees at almost all passes by the US for resolution from the increasing chaos in Iraq.  When asked about prospects for the future, he explained that things are only going to get worse before they get better, both for Iraq and the region as a whole

Our specialist on the media also explained that because of the rise of Al-Jazeera, there is an increasing sense of kinship among the various people in the Middle East who receive their information from this news outlet.  While recognizing that no news outlet is unbiased, she explained that the West, particularly the US, has a very schewed view of who Al-Jazeera is (and, please note, there are other satellite stations that compete with Al-Jazeera, but they are less watched because of the positive reputation Al-Jazeera has here).  She explained that the media in the US are very reluctant to include the Arab perspective in the news and that we don’t dialogue with voices representative of the Middle East.  Every morning, I have received an English newspaper printed here in Cairo, and almost every day, above the fold on page one is a photo of the latest atrocity committed against the Palestinians.  This is a perspective we don’t often see in the US. 

The Egyptian-Israeli relations expert explained that most Egyptians do not think they will ever again be at war with Israel, but that the perception of Israeli Jews is a negative one here.  That is also what I have observed in my research, both formal and informal, here in Egypt.  I am not surprised by the perceptions, but I am surprised at the seeming lack of willingness to engage in dialogue with Israelis.  The expert explained that she had never been to Israel before.  I just talked with my academic advisor, a professor here in Egypt, and she said that in a conference in Jordan last year, an Israeli woman was discussing how much she sensed the reluctance of Egyptians to even want to talk with her because she is Israeli.  I wonder what can come of the conflict when even the experts cannot talk with each other. 

I don’t want to convolute Iraq and the Palestinian issue here, but they seem to be intertwined among perceptions Egyptians have.  Egyptians and other viewers of Al-Jazeera have said several times that they see what is happening to their “brothers,” and somehow the US and Israel blend together,and the anger people feel about the situation is directed at both countries, including their people.  Egyptians see the way Palestinians are bombed and mistreated and the way Iraqis live in fear and are mistreated (think Abu-Ghraib as a simple example), and a lot of anger forms.  Historically there has been deep mistrust and rumor-mongering here as well about Israel—that Israel is, for instance, selling shorter, more toxic cigarettes to Egyptians on purpose (this was during the 90s, and there have been other documented situations similar to this as well).

Then I don’t have understandings of the way the Gulf states operate, the kinds of agreements they form, the role Iran and Syria might be trying to play.  I’m not sure anyone has this understanding.  But the more antagonism develops between the war in Iraq and the troubles of the Palestinians, things are not going to get better.  I think of my friend who lived through the war in Lebanon last summer who was disgusted by Condeleeza Rice’s depiction of the situation as the “birth pangs of a new Middle East,” and can’t help but question the sincerity of the rhetoric.

What can be done to ameliorate this situation?  Dialogue and trust building.  A willingness of stakeholders to give up possible gains to see real democracy and education. I know there have been some attempts.  There’s such a deep history of mistrust, it’s hard to make sense of the dialogue.  Like the speakers we talked with, I believe that things will, unfortunately, get worse before they get better.

Hello readers,

It has been a while since I was able to log on.  The Nile Cruise, while lovely, had very expensive and slow internet access at about $27 US an hour.  I’m back in Cairo (feels like home!) at the free wireless Internet cafe.

I’m getting a little anxious about leaving Egypt.  I’ve been loving the people and the culture here, but Fulbright takes us on to Israel.  I just spoke to my husband who affirmed that I will have an enlightening experience there and that I need to suck it up.  He’s right; I know.

Tomorrow I’ll be at the Suez Canal and the Arab League.  Details forthcoming.

I hesitate to write this post, but I think it’s a necessary one in light of my experience here.  I’ll attempt to describe the way Egyptians see the world.  The title of the program I’m participating is, after all, “Egypt Through Egyptian Eyes.” 

Before proceeding, I remind the reader that while my Egyptian group leaders are doing everything they can to convey Egypt from their perspective, I can only understand as much as my own background allows me.  So while I try to convey the thoughts of Egyptians, this post ends up being more about me and my ability to gather insights and my inability to perceive things.  My world here has been limited to the highlights of Egyptian tourism, a few highly impressive academics and my limited observations in the streets.  And, obviously, I will be making several generalizations which simply do not apply to all Egyptians.

Probably the central focus for all Egyptians, regardless of social class, is the family.  The nuclear family does what it can to stay glued together, even after marriage.  It’s common for a child to get married and move into an apartment next to his parents’, for instance.  The family is being challenged, today, however, by divorce.  Our tour guide says that about 30% of marriages are now ending in divorce.  I guess this comes from a few factors.  One problem is that meeting material needs in this country is fairly difficult.  Even for people who are doing well, their travel time in the highly congested city of Cairo (where most people in Egypt live), takes its toll on a person’s well-being.  We’ve spent an hour and a half trying to make it from the airport to our hotel, which without traffic can take only 15 minutes.  Another problem is the westernization of the culture.  Now that modern goods and modern notions streaming through satellite images have been introduced, it’s hard for people not to imagine a different lifestyle from the traditional one Egyptians had for so long.

But back to the family…  Friday is the first weekend day for Egyptians here.  It is solidly respected as the day that the family must be together, spending time and eating.  Egyptians for the most part seem to enjoy this custom, and I think it maintains the social fabric.

One of our speakers is the child of Iraqi parents who grew up in New York.  He has taught at the American University of Cairo and documents people’s lives in Egypt, often for the use of human rights publications.  He said he has chosen to live in Egypt because of the warmth of the people, their generosity, and their wit.  No doubt Egyptians tend to be very funny.  I asked for a bottle of water yesterday at a small café, and the young man behind the cash register deadpanned a solid, “no.”  After all of three seconds he smiled widely and said, “Yes, I’ll even buy it for you!”  He didn’t buy me the water, but he sure pulled my leg.  I’ve also noticed how kind and hospitable Egyptians are.  I see them spending time seated in cafes, talking and joking with each other for hours on end.  This tends to occur mostly among men, but sometimes women are involved as well.

I get the sense that Egyptians, unlike many Americans, are expert at enjoying the present moment.  The wide, wide smile that Egyptians have seems to reveal a zest for life right now.  I personally find myself waiting to save my energy in some of the things I do in life, while I sense that Egyptians find a way to be more fully present.

***

This last part may be a bit confusing.  In southern Egypt and northern Sudan (they border each other), a group of people called the Nubians live.  Not all people in these regions are Nubian, but many of them are.  They are culturally distinct from other Egyptians, and I feel I need to add this information to both demonstrate that people here are not all one culture as well as to show my ignorance and lack of understanding.

The Nubians resisted conquer from the pharaohs and maintained many of their unique cultural practices throughout Egyptian history.  Currently, unlike most Egyptians who live in some of the most densely parts of the world, they live in desert villages nears the Nile in southern Egypt.  The construction is largely beautifully painted adobe in shades of slightly purpled light blue and gold with burnt red trim.  There is decorative painting on their walls, and they live several families to each compound with a center area, almost a sort of open-air atrium.  So far, I had the sense that Nubians were fairly well-accepted in Egypt, despite the fact that they choose to settle their disputes with their own methods and operate in many ways outside Egyptian society. 

Last night, we ate at a Nubian house (which opens itself to tourists).  We were fed delicious okra and tomato dishes, breaded and fried beef, baba ganouj, chicken, rice, among other things.  We sat on wool woven rugs on the sand and small cushions.  After dinner, a few of us were discussing how well the Nubians were accepted.  I guessed that they mixed fairly well with Egyptians.  Not so, one of my colleagues explained.  He said he was talking with another  man in a public place and said, “Oh, that guy over there is Egyptian.”  The response was something to the effect of, “Oh, no, he’s black.  A Nubian.  I’m Egyptian.”  Physically, Nubians tend to have darker skin than most Egyptians, true, but they are still Egyptian.  I was surprised to be so quickly disabused of my misunderstanding.

Following the dinner, we were allowed to sit in on the beginning of a Nubian wedding in the same village where we ate.  This was a real wedding, not put on for tourists—though they do sometimes allow tourists to witness their event both as testimony to their hospitality, and, I suspect some sort of payment, though I don’t know that for sure.  A seven-member band played the same song with several variations for over an hour while we were there, African drums and keyboards providing all the music to the lead singer and the two men providing back-up vocals.  A flock of about 20 or 30 young boys moved rhythmically to the music while we sat atop mats nearby and watched.  Most of the men wore the customary long robes  and the few women we spotted were largely covered.  We sat inside an adobe walled area the size of a third of a basketball court, outdoors, where the kids danced across the dirt.  The boys smiled a lot at us, and some of our group members snapped up their pictures.  I felt a little odd being one of the few women out publicly, and I worried about my skirt, which reached just beneath my knees, as being too revealing, though there was nothing I could do once I was there.  I enjoyed the music but had to leave with the group at about 1:45 am, as they were too tired to stay for the rest.  We hadn’t seen the bride or groom yet.  I would have liked to have stayed all night to have witnessed it. 

I’m still in Upper Egypt (which is actually the southern part of Egypt, considered upper Egypt because of the way the Nile flows—which, unlike other rivers, moves from south to north).  We’re taking our third round-trip flight to get to Abu Simbel where we’ll see another ancient Egyptian temple.  We just came from the Aswan Dam—2 trillion tons of stone blocking the Nile from its regular flooding but also the silt which would otherwise fertilize the agriculture along the Nile. 

But it’s time for a break from the chronoligical account from my travels to describe a few phenomena here.  I’ll start with one of my favorite things to visit anywhere I travel—the market.  I’ve been to three markets now, one I described briefly in Alexandria, another in the old part of Cairo known as Islamic Cairo, and a third last night in Aswan.  Additionally, every historic monument, aside from lots of armed guards (the government wants to ensure that no more of the tourists are threatened after the few bombings that have occurred in other parts of the country in the 90s) has a group of stalls selling traditional Egyptian handicrafts.  I’ll try to offer some general terms about what you might find at these locations.

First, the markets are social experience.  I know not to expect a sticker on most prices and that I’ll have to barter.  I hear from the men who work at each small stall (few women are working there, presumably because the tradition of society is to keep them out of such experiences):

 Hey, you want two camels?
Today you are a queen, which queen you want to be?
Where are you from?  America?  Oh, Alaska!

I have many beautiful things, all pure silver and gold, just have a look.

You want a scarf?  Pure cotton, come inside.

Here’s one used on the men, “Hey, Rambo, what’s the matter?  You don’t want to make eye contact with me?”

And then, after you have refused to drink tea or Turkish coffee with the merchants and start the bargaining, it goes something like this:

“How much is this?”
“For you, good price, Egyptian price,” he begins with a broad smile and leans a little closer to me.  “170 Egyptian pounds,” he says with great satisfaction, as if the deal is complete.
“Ahh,” I start with a conciliatory tone, “That’s still too high for me, how about a better price?”

“Well, for you, I can make a big discount,” then he rubs his chin for a moment, pulls his calculator closer and taps out a new number, turning the keypad toward me so I can have a look.  Now he sounds even more satisfied as he says, “160.”

“Oh, I’m afraid it’s still too high,” I try to look a little bothered at this point. 

“OK, ok, my friend, you tell me what price you want to give.”

“Well, I don’t want to insult you.”

“No problem, just give me a price.”

“Ok, how about 40 Egyptian pounds?”

“Oh no, you break my heart!  I cannot accept this price.  This is pure Egyptian silver!”  Then he pauses.  “OK, ok, just have a seat.  Maybe we can do something better,” and then we spend another five minutes negotiating the price, smiling and I attempt to leave at which point the vendor chases me into the street and offers a better price.  Finally I settle on 95 pounds and walk away with a beautiful and probably somewhat over-priced pair of earrings.

Not all negotiations result in a sale.  Sometimes you don’t like the thing you’re looking at enough, sometimes you don’t like the vendor.  I’ve been asked for kisses on the cheek twice now, and I remind the vendors that this is “haram” which means “prohibited” in Arabic.  I suppose Western women are inclined to oblige some of the men here from time to time which then encourages men to ask for such things.  I don’t find it threatening; I just know that I am not considered in the same league of women who are native to Egypt and wish I could be more respected.  Again, I remind myself that it is my western predecessors along with women in the media who have helped the men here have these ideas about us.  I can see why women here might want to wear the veil.

When I’m not interested in buying anything, I’m able to think more about what I can see.  Every ten or twenty stalls, there is a huge stall of spices sold in large cylindrical containers.  You can smell the cumin, coriander, hot pepper, paprika, dried mint, and others.  I asked a woman who worked at one stand what each spice was used for.  Each spice has unique properties.  Hibiscus flowers are made into a cool water drink which are good for the stomach.  Other spices are good for the throat, others for headaches, and still others for digestion.  There are several flowers which I cannot identify that are used for making tea.  The ground cinnamon here is as satisfying as passing your hand through a sea of diamonds. 

There are plenty of daily consumption goods here as well.  Some storefronts have home repair goods, many of them appearing to be recycled nuts and bolts and tools.  Other storefronts are full of brightly colored plastic products and thin metal cooking pots and utensils.  I understand that many of the goods are now imported from China, something familiar to most countries these days.  Other storefronts have racks and racks of brightly colored scarves which women will use for a veil or headwrap.  The colors and patterns range from demure ivories to woven rainbows of color.  For tourists, there are large, free-standing hooka pipes (these are used for smoking tobacco only—something many members of my group have begun to enjoy in the local cafes).  You’ll also find traditional Egyptian galabiyas for sale (long, thin material cloak garments—plain and light colored for men, often highly elaborate with beadwork for women). There are also lots of western style clothes for sale for both genders as well.